


Paper Cuts

by scoradh



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puberty hits Rikkai like a big yellow schoolbus. </p><p>Written for rikkai_exchange in September 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Cuts

  
It was an unpleasantly warm day. Yukimura's hand stuck to his cheek as he cupped one with the other, fighting a losing battle to stay awake. Hikigama-sensei was droning on in the background, his voice melding seamlessly with the buzz of bees in the apple blossoms.   
  
The classroom's windows overlooked the sports complex of Rikkai Dai high school. As usual, Yukimura had managed to secure a seat next to one. Every so often, when a crack of gum from Marui beside him, the scratch of a mechanical pencil, or the soft plod of Sensei's size thirteen brogues jolted Yukimura into full consciousness, he would refresh himself with the view.   
  
Meanwhile, Yukimura's eyes drooped, as did his neck. Marui often compared the process to a flower wilting. The comparison disgusted Yukimura, who got mistaken for a girl more often than Niou got mistaken for Yagyuu, or Sanada for a deaf-mute. However, he never let his pique be seen. Not because Marui was his friend, but because if word of it got around the tennis circuit Yukimura would never hear the end of it. Getting one over the generalissimo monster of Rikkai would be a prize second only to winning a tournament, in the eyes of some schools. Yukimura sighed. Jealousy was such a petty emotion.   
  
The scrape of chalk on the blackboard roused Yukimura once more from his stupor. Outside, some lucky students were having gym class. They were running track. Rather, three or four of them were running. The rest were jogging (ten), walking (twenty), dawdling (seven) or dying (most). Yukimura's mouth lifted as he recognised a familiar baseball cap among the worthy few powering ahead. Just as quickly it dropped again. Even at this distance, Sanada's face was shining with sweat. He'd better not tire himself out before practice. Yukimura was all for totalitarian exercise regimes, but there was a line between Spartan and strain injury.   
  
"Yukimura-kun." A greasy voice slid atwixt Yukimura and his thoughts, heartlessly separating them. "Would you be so kind as to give us your opinion on the matter?"   
  
"Pardon, sensei?" said Yukimura, over the dutiful titters of the class swots. Beside him, Marui was making frantic signals at his own copybook.   
  
"The answer to question seven -- which formed part of last night's homework?" asked Hikigama-sensei, with exaggerated patience.   
  
Yukimura craned his neck to see Marui's copybook more clearly. "In 1701," he began laboriously, for Marui's handwriting as always appeared as if he'd dribbled the ink rather than writing with it.   
  
"If I'd wanted Marui-kun's answer," interrupted Hikigama, "I would have asked for it. Your own, please, Yukimura-kun."   
  
"I'm afraid I forgot to bring it in," lied Yukimura. He didn't bother with a reason, knowing he'd already lost this round with his ham-handed attempt at deception.   
  
"Hmm." Hikigama's eyes were slitted, calculating. "Please see me after class."   
  
"But -- I have tennis practice," protested Yukimura, unable to help himself. He tried smiling to soften the words. His mother always said a clever man never needed to raise his voice.   
  
"Correction. You _had_ tennis practice." Hikigama turned smartly back towards the board.   
  
Yukimura suppressed a sigh and turned his gaze back to the window. Sanada's class was winding down. Yukimura could see Yanagi and Yagyuu talking to each other. Sanada, solitary as ever, was doing stretches. While Yukimura commended this devotion to safety he wished, not for the first time, that Sanada would mix a little more. Outside of practice he talked little and never said very much. Yukimura couldn't decide if it was shyness or single-mindedness, or even boredom. He could have written a book about Sanada's tennis, and not even a Post-It about Sanada's personality.   
  
Maybe he didn't have one, Yukimura mused, and that was why it was so hard to define. It was Marui's favourite party line, countered by Niou who said Sanada did have a personality -- the personality of a rock. Sanada certainly managed to antagonise people, although maybe that was jealousy at play once again. Rocks who played crap tennis probably didn't engender half so much debate.   
  
By this means Yukimura whiled away the remaining ten minutes of Japanese history. Most of the last ten centuries of it had equally passed him by. With a low-voiced reminder to Marui to tell the team he'd be there as soon as he could, Yukimura stopped in front of Hikigama-sensei's desk and bowed.   
  
"Ah, Yukimura-kun." Hikigama looked as if he'd smelled something nasty. Yukimura rarely paid much attention to teachers, so it was for the first time that he noticed Hikigama's rubicund face, his strained belly and his flaccid jowls. Not someone likely to be awed by sporting prowess, Yukimura realised with a sinking heart.   
  
"For the first time, I can ask you a question without your little prompter to fill in the blanks," purred Hikigama. "Do you know how many complete pieces of homework you've turned in this year?"   
  
"No." Yukimura kept his voice flat, but not sullen. The man was out for blood; Yukimura wasn't about to hand him a knife.   
  
"None!" Hikigama slapped his hand on the table, making his briefcase jump. "I might just have understood if it were only this class. Japanese history is not everyone's, aha, cup of tea. But your frankly dismissive attitude to coursework extends across all your classes. I presume the only reason you're even in the B year is that you cram before exams -- although at this point I'm starting to wonder if you cheat."   
  
"I don't cheat." Yukimura lifted his chin, his hair falling back from flushed cheeks. "My friends help me study."   
  
"I see." Hikigama released a gusty sigh. Yukimura nearly winced at the whiff of onions, but schooled his face in time. "I have no choice but to lay this before the principal. I am well aware of your achievements on the tennis courts, but Rikkai Dai is first and foremost a school. If your academic performance remains unsatisfactory, sterner measures will be taken."   
  
"Very well." Yukimura's expression was calm, belying his inner turmoil. If they took tennis away from him ... but they couldn't, because he _was_ tennis. If you cut him in half, tennis balls would fall out. It was Niou's favourite joke, after the one about the nun and the very small microphone. "May I go?"   
  
"I suppose." Hikigama looked disappointed; he'd clearly been hoping for an outburst -- mistaking Yukimura for Kirihara, perhaps. They both had curly hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. And Hikigama hadn't even met Kirihara yet. Yukimura dragged his dissolving attention back to his teacher. "The principal will be in contact."   
  
"Thank you, sensei." Yukimura bowed and left.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The Regulars' locker room was deserted by the time Yukimura arrived, festooned with inside-out uniforms and reeking of ammonia and antiperspirant. Already late, Yukimura took his time changing and considered the implications of Hikigama's veiled threats. He'd come to no satisfactory conclusion, other than that he needed to round up Niou and Yanagi early this year for tutorials, when he stepped on to the courts.   
  
Sanada immediately left off berating some freshmen Yukimura recognised from English class, and came to stand beside Yukimura. Niou had turned up for practice today but Yagyuu was absent, probably tired from gym. Marui had skived off again, still desolate without Jackal, and lacking Yukimura to herd him along. Yanagi was practising swings with a bootfaced expression.   
  
"Everyone's run their laps, right?"   
  
"Buchou." Sanada tugged the brim of his cap, like a toothless peasant paying obeisance to a samurai. "I gave Niou extra because he put gum in Nayama's hair again."   
  
"How many extra?"   
  
"Twenty."   
  
"You gave him fifty last time."   
  
Sanada shrugged. "Nayama should have known better by now. It's his fault if he doesn't learn from experience."   
  
"Right. And Yanagi? What's up with the swing practice?"   
  
"He still believes that as a freshman he should be doing freshman practice. He was picking up balls yesterday, remember."   
  
Yukimura hid a smile. Unlike other schools, Rikkai was not hidebound by tradition. No, it was far too cutthroat for that. As captain of a team that had thrice placed in Nationals, and what was more earned itself a fearful reputation, Yukimura had been granted captaincy on his first day of high school. He hadn't been surprised, but others were -- Yanagi, for one, who had deep respect for traditions like working one's way up through the ranks. Yukimura had wanted Sanada for his fukubuchou again, but Yanagi had cautioned against it.   
  
"You don't want to isolate the older players completely," he'd warned. "The day might come when you need them." As usual, Yanagi's prophesying had proven correct.   
  
Jackal had returned to Brazil and his mother's family to attend high school there, and to finally cure the homesickness that had plagued him all the time he'd lived in Japan. Marui was completely disheartened by this defection. Over the summer he'd put on twelve pounds, and his interest in tennis had waned as the scales skyrocketed.   
  
Niou and Yagyuu had both refused positions as Regulars, preferring to lay low for their freshman year. Thus, with a third-year fukubuchou who'd managed to break his leg falling down the steps of the tournament grounds, Yukimura had lead a team of almost complete strangers to victory at Nationals. For some reason it wasn't as sweet when he couldn't keep the names of his Regulars straight, and had to refer to them as 'You, Singles Two, you're slacking off.'   
  
High school also had a totally different focus from middle school. Already, people were talking about which universities they were applying to, and the type of career they wished to pursue. Yukimura had been genuinely shocked to find most of his team barely contemplated the thought of becoming professional tennis players. Yagyuu was calm in the assumption that he'd follow his father's footsteps, although perhaps to surgery rather than medicine. Yanagi and Niou were both aiming for Todai, Yanagi to study Classics, Niou engineering. Marui changed his mind every week, but never in favour of tennis. Only Sanada's aspirations remained a mystery, immune to any probing, for which Yukimura was grateful. It would be the final betrayal if Sanada turned out to want to be a pharmacist or a teacher.   
  
"Never mind," said Yukimura, his eyes trained on Yanagi's face. "There's only a few more weeks of school left, and next year he can be a Regular the normal way."   
  
"Are Niou and Yagyuu coming back too?" asked Sanada.   
  
"Of course, why wouldn't they?" Yukimura turned to look at Sanada. Sanada's expression gave nothing away.   
  
"I was just checking. They're both busy with their studies."   
  
"So are you, and you're here," retorted Yukimura. Sanada didn't reply. He often didn't, when he felt he had nothing further to say. It was immensely aggravating.   
  
Yukimura knew that there were grumbles from the older players and other freshmen about him permitting his former teammates to waltz into practice whenever they pleased. They hadn't much liked the fact that he'd chosen Sanada as acting-fukubuchou either. There were far fewer members in the high school tennis club than the middle school one, and Yukimura was aware that they felt they should be rewarded for their persistence and reliability.   
  
If Yukimura did as he planned, and reinstated his old teammates right into the coveted Regular positions, those grumbles might turn into loudly-voiced grievances. What was more, many would feel they had a point. Niou had graced little more than half the year's practices with his presence, Yagyuu even less. Marui only showed up when Yukimura made him, which was terrible for morale. Sanada and Yanagi had done their time, but had they done enough? And what would happen when Yukimura introduced the volatile Kirihara to the mix?   
  
These were all concerns that obliterated Yukimura's mild worry about his test scores and homework assignments. These were the things that _mattered_ , yet he was increasingly aware that for the most part they only mattered to him. He was certain he could win across the board when his former team returned to its rightful positions. He was less certain that winning was still the number one aim for the members of his club.   
  
"Have you got kendo training tonight?" Yukimura asked Sanada.   
  
"No."   
  
"Good." Yukimura folded his arms. "Then you can play a match with me after practice." He stepped forward and Sanada melted back into the fray. "Freshmen, get your act together! I'm coming to look at your swings. Niou, stop messing and give your tennis racquet something to do." He paused to survey his domain, breathing in the scent of honest sweat, revelling in the looks of apprehension. "Now. Who wants to play a volley?"   
  
+_+_+   
  
The courts emptied promptly. No one wanted to hang around on a sultry Friday afternoon, not when they could be going out for soba and shaved ice with girls from the cheerleading squad. Yukimura steered clear of romantic entanglements, wishing to keep his mind on the game, but in this he was sadly a lone rebel. Even more sadly, he was not permitted to forbid his crew to associate with girls. Everyone but him was relishing the changeover from middle school and the wider freedoms granted them. All Yukimura could do was set a good example and hope someone was watching.   
  
For a brief flash, he wondered if there was a cheerleader who'd wait in vain for Sanada this evening. As soon as the thought appeared, he dismissed it. Even if such a girl did exist to be put out by Sanada's no-show, he could easily replace her. All those girls looked interchangeable to Yukimura.   
  
He draped his kingfisher blue jacket over the bench and tested the face of his racquet. His jersey clung to his sweat-dampened skin, rippled only slightly by the hot wind. Across the court Sanada was adjusting his power wrists. Yukimura bounced a ball, hearing his heart echo the sharp thuds. All was right with the world.   
  
"Smooth or rough?" he called, although he hardly needed to ask at this point. As always, 'smooth' floated back over the net, and Yukimura spun his racquet.   
  
It landed rough, but Yukimura gave Sanada the first serve. Yukimura didn't want to try out new shots, or attempt to seal the few of Sanada's he hadn't yet cracked. He just wanted to play and to throw all his angst, his anger and his apprehension into it. Playing Sanada was comforting, the tennis equivalent of eating crisps in bed. Sanada wasn't a flashy player, never had been; he was strong, like a wall or a mountain. _Or a rock_ , Yukimura reminded himself wryly.   
  
Each game was close and hard-fought. The shadows lengthened as Yukimura drew Sanada into a tie-break and trounced him 18-16.   
  
Yukimura dropped his racquet and massaged some life into his nerveless fingers. It would take a while before they'd straighten out properly. He ached all over, with the muscles in his shoulders leading the pack. Yet the euphoria was overwhelming, and he could ride it until the throbbing subsided to a manageable level.   
  
He did a few rudimentary cool-down stretches and flung himself across the bench. He opened his mouth and poured water straight into it. He thought about switching to a power drink for the fortieth time, remembered the sugar levels, and rejected the idea for the fortieth time. He sat up to tip some cool water into his already drenched hair, caught sight of Sanada pulling off his blue jersey, and spilt water all over his lap without noticing a single drop.   
  
Blithely unaware of Yukimura's round-eyed gaze, Sanada used his shirt to mop his face and wring out his hair. Sweat-laden tendrils danced in front of his eyes, where usually they were raked back into a stern hairstyle more suited to a forty-year-old salaryman. His bare chest glowed in the dusky light, sprinkled with dark hairs like chocolate on a cappuccino. It was as beautifully sculpted as Michelangelo's David -- who, if Yukimura remembered correctly, was also made of rock.   
  
Yukimura told himself it was surprise that caused his stomach to plummet and soar as if it were on a private rollercoaster. Most tennis players had sinewy builds, skinny with whipcord arms. Sanada, of course, played kendo as well and was a gym-worshipper. No wonder he had such well-defined muscles, so deeply carved and cutting clear lines into his skin to disappear beneath his shorts.   
  
When he was done, Sanada put his shirt and cap back on. Yukimura wrinkled his nose at the thought of cold sweaty cloth against skin, and the moment passed. They walked companionably back to the clubhouse side by side. Sanada didn't speak because he never did. Yukimura, who usually kept up a train of chatter, was distracted by such potential conversational gambits as 'So, you've got a really hot body now, do you have any tips?'   
  
He decided it would be best if he waited for home to shower. His mother had told him years ago that he'd start experiencing strange urges as his body changed. Up to now he'd thought she was referring to trying to see girl's bras through their shirts, and wanting to hit people with his racquet. She'd never intimated that the urges would be _this_ strange.   
  
"Thanks," he said.   
  
"You're welcome," Sanada replied gravely. A wisp of hair had escaped from the confines of his cap and was gambolling across his forehead. Yukimura thought about it on the train home, as tired office girls used his back as a bed and perverts tried to pinch his behind. Yukimura had always thought they were mistaking him for a girl. Maybe they weren't.   
  
It was all very confusing. Yukimura infinitely preferred tennis.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura stared out of the window. Some lucky workman was repainting the scrollwork on the school sign and dripping silver all over the concrete. It looked like cloud blood. Inside the principal's office, a council of war raged around him.   
  
On one side was Yukimura's mother, stunning in scarlet Givenchy and nursing a raging hangover and a towering rage. On the other was a sanctimonious Hikigama-sensei and a harried-looking Principal Kunusoki, who'd always had a huge crush on Yukimura-san but who was also weighted down by the Sisyphean disapproval of the school board.   
  
"Yukimura-kun has scraped through the past two continuous assessments," he was now saying desperately.   
  
"Scraped being the operative word," Hikigama interjected smoothly. "If it wasn't for the averages system, his abysmal marks in some subjects would cause him to be relegated to the C year." Unspoken remained the implication that relegation to the C year was a fate worse than death or taxes. The C year was always small, because people either left it to go up to B year, or left it for good.   
  
"My son is a gifted artist and tennis player," said Yukimura-san, her voice trembling with outrage. "He cannot be expected to fit the confines of your narrow academic expectations."   
  
"Yukimura-san, our expectations on that score are in fact quite broad. We are quite ready to reward effort as much as achievement." The principal smoothed his thinning hair. "Unfortunately, Yukimura-kun has shown a disappointing lack of interest in putting much, if any, effort into his studies. If he spent even half as much time at a desk as he did with a tennis racquet, we would not need to be here today."   
  
Yukimura-san looked on the verge of tears. Yukimura found her hand and pressed it. "It's all right, okaasan. Principal Kunusoki, I am buchou of the tennis team. I've already won them their first title in five years. I don't want to give it up."   
  
"And I wouldn't ask you to," said Kunusoki unexpectedly. "But you must redefine your priorities, Yukimura-kun. You are an exceptional player; I've had the privilege of watching some of your matches. You are quite merciless." His lips were so thin that when he smiled, they disappeared, but Yukimura found himself warming to the man. "However, you've had to switch over from playing one set match to playing three. That's a big demand for any athlete, on top of which you've taken over running of the tennis club well nigh single-handedly. So my suggestion is this." He held out his hands, palms open. "Next year, assuming you get adequate marks to remain in the B year, you allow us to appoint you a team manager."   
  
"A team manager?"   
  
"Yes. Most of the clubs have one. In fact, I think there's even a team managers' club." Now Kunusoki was fiddling with his tie, evidently distracted by Yukimura-san's heaving bosom. She was certainly a powerful bargaining tool. "If she turns out to be unsatisfactory we can find another --"   
  
"Wait, _she_?"   
  
"Yes." Kunusoki seemed surprised at Yukimura's vehemence. "Most of the boys' team managers are girls. The boys seem to like it -- getting little treats baked for them and their uniforms ironed and so on."   
  
"Oh." Yukimura subsided gloomily. He had a feeling that his team would do more than 'seem to like' it, particularly Yagyuu, who had a new girlfriend every fortnight. Then again, it would be a relief not to have to deal with mountains of forms and mountain ranges of team complaints for the first time in three years. "Well, I think it sounds like a good idea."   
  
"I hope so. Ideally, it will free up some of your time so that you can study more -- and not just at the end of the year."   
  
Yukimura smiled at the same time as his mother. Kunusoki blinked rapidly and blotted his forehead with a tissue. Hikigama looked put out, but at a nudge from Yukimura his mother murmured something about being walked to her car. Hikigama nearly fell over his chair in eagerness.   
  
Niou caught up with Yukimura in the hallway. His mother had submitted to take Hikigama's arm, despite tottering four inches above him in her Louboutin heels. Yukimura probably wouldn't have to worry about trouble from him for a few weeks.   
  
Niou wolf-whistled. "Is that your mom? That explains the incredible bone structure."   
  
"What do you mean?" Yukimura was uncomfortably aware that he'd only completed half the revision equations Niou had set for him. Niou laughed and draped an arm around his shoulders.   
  
"Yours, o'course. You're the prettiest tennis player on the high-school circuit, buchou!"   
  
Yukimura ground his teeth, but remembered the equations. "Don't you have class?"   
  
"Nah." Thankfully, Niou took back his arm to stretch both over his head. His shirt was untucked, his tie askew, and he was chewing a pencil with every evidence of gastronomic delight. "We have a free study period. Everyone else is beavering away in the library. Beaver, beaver, beaver." He put his teeth over his lip, tugging a laugh from Yukimura. No one could stay mad at Niou for long, except Yagyuu, who still hadn't forgiven him for stealing his glasses on his first day of elementary school.   
  
"So you've nothing to study then?" Yukimura's voice was soggy with jealousy. Unlike Yagyuu, Yanagi and Sanada, Niou wasn't in the A class. He was one step above, in G &T. According to Niou, this stood for Gross and Tragic. He'd languished at the bottom of every league table all the way through middle school, until his astounding test scores on the entry exams plucked him out of the crowd.   
  
At first he'd resented being torn away from his friends and his pranks; then he'd realised G&T students were apparently 'trustworthy' and 'hardworking' and were allotted tonnes of free periods to work on 'projects.' Now he seemed to spend most of his time haunting the halls like a cheeky ghost, chatting up the school secretaries and thus knowing everything about everyone.   
  
"I've got this speed of light experiment set up in the G&T lab," Niou said lazily. "So far three of my esteemed colleagues have been hit by the paint can of relativity. I'll definitely get an A."   
  
"Well, duh. If you got an F you'd probably have to go all the way back down to the A year."   
  
"Aw, do I detect a hint of the green-eyed monster?" Niou leaned closer until they were nose-to-nose, and his eyes were crossing frantically. "Maybe when you get a team manager you'll move up to G&T too. Then I can hit you with my paint can."   
  
"And _then_ you could do an experiment to calculate the cosmic number of laps I'd make you run," suggested Yukimura. "How'd you know -- never mind, why didn't you warn me about the manager thing?"   
  
"It's the expression on their little faces I love," crooned Niou, staggering around with his hands clasped. "Hey, you have study period now too, doncha?"   
  
"Yes -- but mine is supervised," said Yukimura hastily, seeing his chance of finishing the equations in time disappearing into the long grass.   
  
"No worries." Niou reached behind Yukimura's ear and pulled out a folded note. "Signed in triplicate by your form teacher, my supervisor and the principal. We can go finish those equations on the roof."   
  
"Fine." Yukimura gave one last glance out the window. Hikigama was escorting his mother past the sign painter now, all unaware of the silver paint splattering his bald patch. "How'd you guess I never finished them?"   
  
"That's me," said Niou smugly, "gifted _and_ talented."   
  
+_+_+   
  
On the last day of school Yukimura walked out into a flurry of sakura petals, and didn't realise until he'd got home that they were stuck to his hair like a starry crown. Crossly, he stood in front of his mirror pulling them out one by one.   
  
Kunusoki had called him in before the closing ceremony to inform him, 'off the record,' that he had passed all his exams and would be in the B year again. This Yukimura already knew, courtesy of Niou's prior intelligence.   
  
As he peeled off his uniform in favour of a loose t-shirt and shorts, Yukimura wondered if it were too soon to call people up for tennis on the street courts. In fact, he had the keys to the school courts; they'd probably get away with using them.   
  
But as he leaned out his window, which because the house was set on a hill overlooked a bowl of high rises glittering in the sun, the starchy wind clogged his nose and made him cough. In years past the Rikkai Dai team had spent every day of vacation together, playing tennis early before it got too hot, and then rushing off for ice cream or day trips to the beach. Yukimura didn't feel he was losing his friends so much as they were drifting away, still in the same general ocean but no longer swimming together.   
  
As it happened, the matter was taken out of Yukimura's hands. His father got a promotion that required his spending time in America setting up advertising deals with Apple, and he brought his family along for an extended holiday.   
  
The company's American office was located in Boston, so Yukimura was treated to a New England summer and more green grass than he'd ever seen before in one place. The local country club had an excellent tennis court, and Yukimura had a lot of fun vanquishing the reigning champions -- all pretty blonde boys with Rolexes and drawling accents Yukimura couldn't make head nor tail of at first.   
  
But English was his best subject, if the word 'best' could be so degraded, and once the boys got over their outrage at being ousted by what they initially thought was a Japanese girl, they taught him words he didn't even know in Japanese. It also helped that Yukimura's sister, Noriko, was as delicate and enchanting as an embryo Madame Butterfly. Bored with the histronics of their blonde-streaked and fake-tanned female compatriots, all the boys fell madly in love with her.   
  
Yukimura was sitting on a grassy knoll overlooking the club's golf course, with his father's stolen laptop soaking up illegal wireless. Noriko, pink-faced and giggling in plus-fours and a flat cap, was being taught how to putt by a bevy of swains. Between each email, Yukimura checked that none of them were getting fresh with her. Noriko couldn't help being tempting, as she was her mother's daughter, but his father wouldn't be pleased at any untoward developments. More importantly, he'd blame them on his son.   
  
Everyone seemed busy. Niou was away at some science camp he'd won a scholarship to; he'd hacked into the computer system to send the email, because apparently the place was the next best thing to a prison. Yanagi had got a summer job at a computer factory, where to Yukimura's disquiet Inui from Seigaku was also employed.   
  
Marui didn't seem to be doing much more than eating his way to obesity, but Yukimura couldn't find the words to tell him to stop. It had been Jackal's idea for Marui to eat energy-boosting sweets, but now that Jackal was gone Marui had no use for the energy on which he was overdosing.   
  
Yagyuu's short note was as precise and clinical as the information in it. He was following his father on rounds, he said. Had Niou been there he could have colourfully filled in the gaps; but for all his griping Niou was so engrossed in his camp that he hadn't sent more than the one email, dated three weeks previously.   
  
Yukimura couldn't help frowning at the fact that Sanada's name hadn't yet appeared in his inbox. Sanada had Yukimura's email address. Yukimura had sent him enough tennis bulletins in middle school to be sure of that. Even Jackal had found the time to round-robin an update to everyone on his contacts list, informing them about his new band Jackal and the Coyotes, but from Sanada there was not a single word. Yukimura was too proud, and too wary of information leaking to Inui, to ask Yanagi why Sanada hadn't written. No one else would have the remotest idea what he was up to, nor would they much care.   
  
On the point of swallowing his annoyance and writing to Sanada first, Yukimura noticed that Noriko had hit a wild ball into a nearby copse. Ordinarily he would have let her and whoever was currently vying for her attention 'look for the ball' for a few hours, but their father was expected back by six. Yukimura needed to return the laptop before his father noticed its absence, so he reluctantly got to his feet to herd her home.   
  
Noriko didn't appear too put out about defecting, although the boy she left behind certainly did. Yukimura was relieved to be able to revert to Japanese, which he felt it was impolite to do when the Americans were around. They found Noriko's broken English charming, but Yukimura's -- which was considerably more accomplished -- far less so.   
  
"Do you think tousan would let me go to the country club tonight? They're having a cotillion, Tristan just asked me as his date." Noriko swept her hair off her face. Like Yukimura's it was slightly wavy, but Noriko kept it sleek with the brutal employment of ceramic straighteners.   
  
"I doubt it, try asking kaasan," suggested Yukimura. "Tousan's probably dining out with investors again, so he wouldn't notice."   
  
"Nah," said Noriko meditatively. "Tristan's kind of boring. I'll just say tousan won't let me. Then I can hang out with my aniki."   
  
"Don't stay in on my account," said Yukimura, who'd been looking forward to watching the day's Wimbledon matches on TiVo. He and Noriko had their own condo, for the simple reason that their father couldn't handle the constant warring over bathroom and televisual facilities. The warring continued on unabated, but out of tousan's earshot -- which was all that mattered, apparently.   
  
"I'll see," and Noriko did. When they got back, they found their mother had been shopping yet again. She'd bought Yukimura Ralph Lauren wristbands in mint green, with a matching headband -- "to bring out your eyes," she said fondly. Yukimura never had the heart to tell her that he hated green, and headbands even more; he wore them only to please her. Noriko was the fawningly grateful recipient of a lacy, pale pink dress, which made her look just like a sweet pea in bloom and totally changed her mind about the cotillion.   
  
"Leave the door unlocked, okay, Seii-chan," she ordered, once she'd talked her mother round with admirable lack of effort. "I'll be late."   
  
"Whatever." Yukimura tried not to hover too obviously near the microwave, where he was planning to make popcorn as soon as she was out of earshot.   
  
"Your father and I have another investors' dinner," his mother said, rolling her exquisitely made-up eyes. "Ring me on my mobile if you have any problems, or even if you don't. I could do with a fake-emergency diversion."   
  
"I'll try my best to burn the place down," said Yukimura, "just for you."   
  
"That's my good boy." His mother gave him an air-kiss and was gone in a flash of colour. Two birds of paradise had fled the cage. Yukimura opened the cage's windows to clear the cloying smell of perfume.   
  
Outside the sky was stained lurid shades of pink and orange. If someone painted a sunset like that, no one would buy it, mused Yukimura. He sprawled on the sofa to await his popcorn, first removing a pile of Noriko's magazines that were digging into his back.   
  
The cover of one caught his eye. A sulky raven-haired boy posed half-naked against a backdrop of flowers. In his position Yukimura would have been sulky, too. But what arrested Yukimura was the strong resemblance the boy bore to Sanada, what with his well-defined pecs and abdominals. Both of them stood in contrast to the country club boys who, despite putting up a good fight against Yukimura, had paunchy stomachs from too many nights carousing.   
  
Thoughtfully, Yukimura tucked the magazine away under the sofa cushions. If challenged later, he could always say he'd wanted it for the recipes: Ten Ways to Get to Your Man's Heart Through His Stomach.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura arrived back in Japan with hair grown halfway down his neck, skin the colour of café au lait from playing tennis every day, and in an extremely bad temper. Sanada had not emailed him once, despite Yukimura's conciliatory three-page dissection of every match from Wimbledon. He was torn between hope that Sanada's computer had been repossessed, and worry that he cared more about Sanada's lack of communication than anyone else's (Kirihara's tally matched Sanada's at zero, Yagyuu and Niou were both trailing at one, Jackal's three didn't count because he sent the same emails to everyone and never acknowledged the ones he received). Yukimura's mood wasn't improved when he found the spinosissima hybrid roses he'd been cultivating had died from neglect.   
  
Yet all in all it was a relief to be back home, despite the lowering smog that Yukimura noticed more keenly than ever. At least he could use a phone here without braving his father's rage over the astronomical bills. In this sense Noriko, who'd left Boston clutching handfuls of numbers and addresses, had far more courage than he.   
  
First Yukimura rang Marui, to be greeted with a litany of complaints. His brothers were tormenting him, he'd hardly seen anyone from school since Yukimura had swanned off to America, he couldn't do the tightrope walk any more, and his parents refused to buy him new tennis gear because he'd hardly touched his old racquet all year.   
  
"Don't worry. Once you're on the team again they'll give in," Yukimura assured him, with far more confidence than he felt.   
  
"Huh, not likely," said Marui darkly.   
  
Making plans to meet him the next day, where else than at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Yukimura rang off. He was horrified to feel something close to relief, and quickly dialled Niou's number.   
  
Niou sounded far more upbeat than Marui, although technically that meant nothing. Niou was not in favour of displaying his real feelings except in the direst of circumstances.   
  
"You're trying out for the Regulars when we go back, aren't you?" Yukimura hated himself for needing the reassurance, but with Marui to all intents and purposes out of commission -- he wouldn't play doubles with anyone but Jackal, and Rikkai was lousy with good singles players -- he had to be sure.   
  
"Of course!" said Niou heartily, but turned the subject too quickly. "Guess what? I've been invited to show my relativity experiment at this science fair in London. It'll be full of geeks, sadly, but England should be awesome."   
  
"Awesome," echoed Yukimura.   
  
"Pity about Yagyuu though, I don't know if he'll be up for trying out. He spends every living minute at the hospital with his dad -- I've hardly seen him." Niou seemed as irritated by this as Yukimura was by Sanada, although you'd never have known it from his jokey tone. "He seems to think he'll be allowed to cut someone open if he hangs around there long enough. I told him osmosis doesn't work like that, but did he listen?"   
  
Three down, thought Yukimura as he dialled the last number. And Kirihara had probably given up tennis in favour of singing cabaret in drag.   
  
"Yanagi Renji speaking," said Yanagi. "Before you ask, yes, I'll be trying out for Regulars. So will Genichirou. All you have to decide is which of us will be singles two."   
  
Yukimura didn't bother to ask how Yanagi knew. He'd always had an uncanny knack of picking up what was troubling people, like dogs hearing noises out of human range. "What happened to your kowtowing last year? Aren't you still afraid of hurting your senpais' feelings?"   
  
"That was last year." Yanagi dismissed this. "I've done my time. Now I'm going to blow them out of the water. It'll be just like the old days."   
  
_Far from it_. Yukimura didn't voice the words. He was too proud to ask about Sanada, and Yanagi, clearly assuming Yukimura was up to date with their friend's doings, volunteered no information. Yukimura arranged to meet him for tennis the next afternoon, so he could drag Marui along. He hoped Yanagi would offer to do the same with Sanada, but Yanagi didn't oblige.   
  
Out of habit, Yukimura checked his emails. There was another circular from Jackal. His band had acquired a new bass guitarist. Jackal sounded affronted by this, as he played bass guitar. Even more affronted were the contents of an email from Kirihara. He apologised for not writing before, but his parents had put him on internet restriction because of his abysmal results on the entry exam. They were insane; he'd got into Rikkai Dai High anyway, so why'd they get their panties in a twist?   
  
As always, Yukimura was amused by Kirihara's antics, and moreso by his assumption that Yukimura could magically solve all his dilemmas. There was also a tiny shred of relief that Kirihara hadn't been purposely ignoring him.   
  
The email went on to say that Kirihara knew Yukimura was back in Japan, did he want to play a game soon because his sister was driving him mad and Yanagi was now refusing to take his calls, and could he be singles two next year?   
  
Grinning, Yukimura wrote back to invite him along to his game with Yanagi. It would probably piss off the Master, but Yukimura would be there to defuse the situation. And what with the growing disinterest from Marui, Niou and Yagyuu, not to mention Sanada's coldness, Yukimura needed all the support he could get.   
  
For in spite of the fact that he kept his computer purring and his phone in his pocket all night, Yukimura went to sleep still having heard nothing from his would-be vice-captain.   
  
+_+_+   
  
If Yanagi was horrified to see Kirihara at the courts, it was nothing to Yukimura's reaction on seeing Marui. Being smaller than average and with a slow metabolism, Marui's weight had always yoyo-ed up while his tennis exertions served to yoyo it back down again. Now that the balance was upset, he'd bloated. His face was the colour of boiled rice, broken only by spots like dollops of sweet bean paste.   
  
Fuelled by misery, Marui shovelled down three times what Yukimura managed at the buffet. The fried food, heavily influenced by American fast-food chains, was not to Yukimura's liking, but Marui had a taste for it. He tasted everything on the menu, and went back for more.   
  
He also cried off tennis afterwards, claiming to be too full, and left Yukimura with the bill. Fuming, Yukimura was not pleased to arrive at the courts only to see Yanagi and Kirihara studiously ignoring one another.   
  
Kirihara had always idolised Yanagi, who unlike Sanada was approachable, and unlike Yukimura was beatable. Yanagi was too formal to openly display his dislike for Kirihara's passionate rages and tempestuous carry-on, and before there had always been a Jackal-shaped buffer zone to separate them. Evidently things had reached boiling point while Yukimura was in America. Yanagi was not the sort of person to appreciate being foisted with a friendship he neither wanted nor required, and had been goaded into telling Kirihara so. Kirihara had gone into a monstrous month-long sulk. Yanagi looked ready to scream with frustration.   
  
"Marui couldn't make it?" said Yanagi without surprise. Without waiting for an answer, he added, "You might have told me Akaya would be here."   
  
"Why, because you wouldn't have been?" hissed Yukimura. He was fed up with the lot of them. "Akaya, come here."   
  
"No," shouted Kirihara, kicking tennis balls at the wall. Yukimura was only slightly diverted to see that his aim was just as good with his foot. "Yanagi-senpai hates me, I'm not going near him."   
  
"He doesn't hate you," replied Yukimura. He frowned at the people who were sniggering from the next court.   
  
"Oh really?" Yanagi opened his eyes to glare at Yukimura.   
  
"I heard that!" bawled Kirihara. He kicked a ball so hard it ricocheted off the wall and into the back of Yanagi's head. "Oops, sorry."   
  
"You little bastard!" Yanagi's eyes glittered with rage. "You meant to do that!"   
  
"Yeah, right," said Kirihara unconvincingly. Yukimura also had his doubts. Kirihara looked a little too pleased at having gained Yanagi's attention.   
  
"Renji," said Yukimura, "we came here to play tennis, not to argue. I know I could do with some decent competition."   
  
"And how are we going to play with three people?" asked Yanagi, in a voice that could have withered a flowerbed. "I could only book this court for an hour, and it's supposed to be for two players --"   
  
"You guys play doubles against me, I can take you both," Kirihara jumped in. Yanagi snorted.   
  
"You couldn't beat Seiichi alone, even if he tied one hand behind his back. How do you propose to beat both of us?"   
  
In mounting horror, Yukimura saw the red glint in Kirihara's eye. "Renji," he said, but it was too late. This time Kirihara used a racquet, and the ball smashed Yanagi right in the nose.   
  
"Kiri _hara_!" howled Yukimura. Kirihara froze in shock at hearing him shout. But Yukimura had no more words.   
  
Yanagi was bent over, trying to stem the flow of blood.   
  
"I'll get an ice pack, will I, you have to put ice on the back of his neck," babbled Kirihara.   
  
Yanagi straightened enough to grate out, "Get him away from me."   
  
"Akaya, please leave now," said Yukimura wearily, feeling he could do with an ice pack for his brain. "I'll go to the clubhouse for the first aid kit."   
  
"Don't bother." Yanagi carelessly wiped his face with his sleeve, which in someone so fastidious was akin to licking a dirty floor. "It's not broken, at least. I'll clean it at home. See you later, Seiichi."   
  
"Hey kid," called a spectator from the gate. Yukimura, watching Yanagi stalk away with an acute sense of foreboding, whirled around. "Are you going to play or what? There are others waiting to use this court if you aren't."   
  
"Are there?" Yukimura smiled. He knew what they saw, what everyone saw at first: a frail-looking boy (or was it a girl?) with a pretty face, smiling at them in apparent welcome. "Does anyone want to play me, then? My friends are ... suddenly indisposed."   
  
"Sure, kid," said the man. "I'm always willing to give youngsters the benefits of my expertise."   
  
"How lucky for me," murmured Yukimura, still smiling. And, because he was feeling murderous, he made all three of the man's friends play him at once when he lost, and didn't let them gain a single point.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura's foul mood was not lightened by the arrival next morning of a devil's advocate, in the form of Seigaku's Inui. Ostensibly he came to deliver a note from Yanagi; in reality he took advantage of every politeness shown him to snoop around the Yukimura household. Yukimura decided he'd make a great tabloid journalist one day.   
  
When Yukimura suggested none too subtly that he take his leave, Inui adjusted his glasses and said Renji -- Renji! -- wished him to wait for a reply from Yukimura.   
  
"I can email him," snapped Yukimura.   
  
"Renji doesn't want Kirihara-kun to see him online," said Inui smoothly. "Please do as he says, Yukimura-kun."   
  
Galled, Yukimura ripped open the envelope and read the curt note inside.   
  
_Seiichi,  
  
I'm staying over at Sadaharu's house for a while. Akaya doesn't know I'm here, so please don't tell him. He's already phoned me twenty times to apologise and jammed up my inbox. I'm not angry with him, you can tell him that, I'm just so very tired of dealing with him all the time. I had no idea what Jackal had to put up with. He should be nominated for canonisation. Sadaharu suggested Akaya needed to go on Ritalin and at this stage I'm inclined to agree. In any case, I'll see you back at school. I won't give you Sadaharu's number in case you're tempted to pass it on to Akaya. I know you have a soft spot for him.   
  
Yours,   
  
Yanagi R_   
  
Chewing his lip until he tasted blood, Yukimura nevertheless managed to smile. "Thank you, Inui-kun. I will do as _Renji_ says."   
  
"You are very kind." Inui bowed, his eyes sweeping the titles of the DVD cabinet. "I'll see myself out, shall I?"   
  
Yukimura could hardly speak through his gritted teeth. "Please do."   
  
When he was certain Inui was really gone, which involved plastering himself against the wall to look out at the driveway unseen, Yukimura collapsed on the sofa. Marui had already sent him a text message whining about a cut in his allowance, like Yukimura could do anything about it. He still hadn't heard hide nor hair from Sanada, and Yukimura would be damned if he text him first. Yanagi was incommunicado, caballing with Inui of all people. If Inui coerced Yanagi into going back to Seigaku to play doubles with him, Yukimura really would kill someone with a racquet.   
  
It was in this tumultuous state of mind that Yukimura found himself roped into shopping with his sister and mother.   
  
"You need some new clothes," his mother declared, obviously not counting the suitcase-full she'd purchased for him in Boston as either new or clothes. Noriko, who had a thumping crush on Niou, added her weight to the plea on the offchance that they'd run into the spiky-haired one in Shibuya.   
  
Although shopping with the female Yukimuras did nothing to help his problems, Yukimura couldn't help but be distracted from them by his horrified amusement.   
  
His mother was dressed in an entirely unsuitable lavender shift from Ghost, paired with skyscraper heels bound in violet satin ribbons. When people mistook her for Noriko's sister, it was a genuine and not a complimentary mistake. Noriko's hair cascaded down her back; it was nearly longer than her skirt. Clumpy Victorian-style ankle boots clashed with hot pink leggings and picked up the sequins on her skimpy camisole top. She looked utterly ridiculous and ultra-fashionable. Yukimura tried to pretend he didn't know them, which was difficult when they all shared the same long, sloe-coloured eyes and generous mouths.   
  
His arms were soon full of bags and packages. It had been a long time since Yukimura had gone shopping with his mother. There had always been tennis practice and gardening eating up his weekends, and then his illness and operation. She was clearly revelling in the experience; Yukimura's feelings were somewhat more restrained. He managed to steer her away from anything too overtly flower-strewn or embroidered, although she had ubiquity on her side: half the boys they passed were dressed more like girls. Japan's fashion revolution had entirely passed Yukimura by, until now.   
  
Yukimura tried not to stare too obviously at a boy browsing near them, who was dressed in velvet hotpants and a mesh shirt that was considerably more mesh than shirt. Noting Yukimura's abstraction, his mother thrust an indigo button-down up against him.   
  
"This would be lovely on you," she said. Still distracted by the mesh shirt, Yukimura let her buy it, failing to notice the ostentatious golden dragon stitched on the back until much later.   
  
"Hey, Seii-chan, isn't that one of the guys from your team?" asked Noriko, slipping a ludicrously expensive scarf into her mother's pile as she went to the till. Yukimura turned to see who it was -- obviously not Niou, or Noriko wouldn't sound so disinterested.   
  
It was Sanada.   
  
Yukimura became acutely aware that a bag he was clutching was spilling something lacy and pink, and that three others bore the names of beauty stores and girly designers. Sanada's face was as still as ever, but Yukimura could see a splash of colour in his cheeks.   
  
"That's Sanada-kun, isn't it?" said Noriko. Sanada and his mother, who was dressed in kimono, were coming towards them. "Good morning, Sanada-san, Sanada-kun." She nudged Yukimura hard in the ribs.   
  
"Good morning, Sanada-san, Sanada-kun," echoed Yukimura. Sanada wasn't wearing his cap, probably because of his mother's influence. Yukimura knew how mad his own mother got when he brought his racquet to the table.   
  
"Good morning, Yukimura-kun." Sanada's mother had a voice like a bent reed. "And this must be your sister, Yukimura-kun."   
  
"Yes, Sanada-san, this is Yukimura Noriko." Yukimura's tongue felt like a piece of lead. Sanada was staring at the ground now. Even Noriko's tiny skirt hadn't tempted him to look upwards.   
  
At that moment Yukimura-san erupted into their presence. She'd memorised the names and faces of all her son's and daughter's friends with the same dedication as she devoted to remembering her husband's business associates. She had no trouble recognising Sanada.   
  
"Sanada-kun!" she exclaimed in delight. "It's been a long time since we've seen you, you must come to dinner very soon and cheer us all up!"   
  
Sanada mumbled something incomprehensible. Yukimura caught Sanada-san's furious whisper: "You never told me Yukimura-kun had two sisters!"   
  
"Is this your mother, Sanada-kun?" continued Yukimura-san gaily. She bowed. "I'm delighted to meet you at last. Your son is a devoted member of my son's tennis team. We all esteem him highly."   
  
"The same goes for Yukimura-kun. Genichirou has nothing but the highest praise for him," said Sanada-san. Yukimura was vindictively amused to see the colour spreading like wildfire across Sanada's face.   
  
"We were just about to visit a teahouse for some refreshment. I don't suppose you would honour us with your company?"   
  
"Certainly." Sanada-san smiled with cracked lips. She could only be a few years older than Yukimura's mother, but she looked a different generation. Her slate blue kimono didn't help, draining her unmade-up face to the shade of an overcast sky. "We would be delighted to join you."   
  
"Wonderful! Seiichi, hand me those packages. I'll give them to the porter to deliver."   
  
It was Yukimura's turn to squirm. He knew Sanada's father and grandfather ran a dojo to make ends meet, in which Sanada and his brother worked for free. Sanada's mother probably hadn't bought as many clothes in her life as Yukimura's mother had today, let alone needed a porter to carry them.   
  
But this was one area in which Yukimura's mother outshone them all. She had a tremendous capability for putting people at ease, and she and Sanada-san were soon embroiled in a discussion about different types of tea and their various merits. Noriko met a friend in the street and was allowed to go off with her for an hour. That hour would turn into a whole afternoon, but Yukimura could see that his mother felt no need to share that with her new friend.   
  
Sanada and Yukimura trailed a few feet behind their mothers. Yukimura felt the pressure to open the conversation, but he didn't think he could talk normally without first demanding why Sanada had ignored him all summer, and he couldn't lower his dignity enough to do that. In the end it was Sanada-san who ran interference for them.   
  
"Your mother is telling me about your summer in America, Yukimura-kun," she called over her shoulder. "Did you have a good time?"   
  
"Yes," replied Yukimura dutifully. "I played a lot of tennis and beat all the Americans at the place we were staying."   
  
"Just like my Genichirou," cackled Sanada-san. "Every day up at dawn to play tennis, and back in the afternoon to work in the dojo."   
  
"You have a son to be proud of," said Yukimura's mother.   
  
"As do you," said Sanada-san, not to be outdone, and they were off again, both striving to pay the biggest compliment while remaining the most humble.   
  
"Were the Americans any good?" Sanada asked his feet.   
  
"Yes," Yukimura told the traffic lights, "but you guys are better."   
  
"I met Marui a few weeks ago. He said he might not be fit enough to play next year."   
  
"I'll get him fit again. Yanagi and Kirihara are having an enormous fight."   
  
"That'll blow over. Yagyuu is good with Kirihara."   
  
"Niou says Yagyuu probably won't try out for the Regulars next year."   
  
"Oh."   
  
They'd reached the tea house. Sanada was clearly pretending the summer hadn't happened, so Yukimura decided to do the same.   
  
"Do you want to play tennis tomorrow?" he asked. He declined to mention that he couldn't get Yanagi, Kirihara was grounded again and no one else seemed remotely interested in tennis anymore.   
  
He was rewarded for his diplomacy. "I'd like that," said Sanada quietly. Yukimura didn't look at him, but he let his eyes drift sideways. Just for a moment, Sanada smiled. It was like watching the sun come out from behind a bank of thunderclouds.   
  
The duration of their visit to the tea house was spent in making arrangements and discussing the last US Open, and Yukimura quite easily forgot the shaky feeling he'd got from seeing Sanada smile.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On the first day of school, the opening ceremony was held outside. Yukimura counted it as a good omen. Every other year he could remember, rain had driven the school into the main hall, where students were squashed together in a swelter of sweat and boredom. Under the trees a fresh breeze blew away the cobwebs, and there was enough room for everyone to get both buttcheeks on the benches.   
  
Yukimura scanned the crowds. At the front with the other freshmen was Kirihara, who waved frantically when he caught Yukimura's eye. He'd already got detention for wearing red socks. Further along was Noriko, ravishing in a rolled-up school skirt. She lifted a well-plucked eyebrow at Yukimura, who sent her a slight smile in return.   
  
Marui was sitting beside him, lamenting the heat of the day in between sneaking bites of one of the three bentos he'd brought along. Yanagi had slipped in late, sporting a strange new spiky haircut and dark glasses. These did a good job of foiling Kirihara, or maybe the kid had just cut his losses. Yagyuu was sitting beside the prettiest girl in their year, his head inclined slightly to take in her chatter. Niou was gathered with the other G &T students beside the stage, ready for whatever 'Spectacular' party piece they'd arranged this year. With Niou around it might actually live up to its name.   
  
Yukimura had clocked all these positions as soon as he sat down. It was Sanada he was looking for, and Sanada who was eluding Yukimura's roving eye so well he was starting to wonder if the boy was there at all.   
  
A crunching noise distracted him from his search. "Bunta, stop eating," he reproved. "It's impolite."   
  
"But I'm hungry," whined Marui.   
  
"You can't possibly be hungry, I saw what you ate for breakfast." Yukimura had called round to Marui's house to pick him up that morning.   
  
"That was an hour ago," said Marui defensively.   
  
Yukimura sighed and abandoned the effort. It was going to take more than a few mild reproofs to get Marui back on the straight and narrow -- 'narrow' being the operative word.   
  
Just as the principal stepped up to the microphone, Yukimura spotted Sanada, seated on the same bench as Yagyuu. His hair, wet from a shower, coiled at the nape of his neck and dripped into his eyes. When Marui turned to him with a questioning expression, Yukimura realised he'd drawn in a sharp breath.   
  
He shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, although he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.   
  
+_+_+   
  
When Yukimura was called to the principal's office after assembly, he was wondering if he'd been implicated in the prank Niou passed off as a Spectacular. Yukimura _had_ advised Niou to get the balloons and glitter in school colours, but surely that was only making the best of a bad situation? He'd totally forgotten about the team manager.   
  
"Ah, Yukimura-kun." Kunusoki was wiping silver glitter out of his comb-over. "Permit me to introduce you to Kiyomi-kun, your new team manager."   
  
He gestured forward a petite girl. Yukimura noticed her presence for the first time. She had undyed hair cut in an urchin's bob and pretty features spoiled by an expression of chipmunky earnestness.   
  
"Pleased to meet you, Yukimura-buchou," she said and bowed deeply.   
  
"Pleased to meet you too, Kiyomi-kun," replied Yukimura in the biggest lie he'd ever told.   
  
"I've informed Kiyomi-kun that your practice begins at four-thirty. Perhaps you might like to meet her beforehand to discuss details?"   
  
"Yes," said Yukimura woodenly. "Please meet me at four-fifteen in the clubhouse."   
  
"I will be honoured." Kiyomi smiled. "Shall I bring cupcakes?"   
  
"Kiyomi-kun was an exemplary member of the Cookery Club last year." The principal was bursting with pride. "Her cakes won awards."   
  
"Only small ones," said Kiyomi modestly. Yukimura wondered if she was referring to the prizes or the cakes.   
  
He extricated himself as soon as possible. Niou knew about the foisting of a manager upon the hapless club, but no one else did. Of course, they were going to be delighted, weren't they? Cupcakes were one of Marui's major food groups. He'd better tell Yanagi, if he wasn't still incognito.   
  
Yukimura rubbed his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a tension headache, which he was surely too young for, cramping his temples. Adjusting his peacock blue tie, he stepped forward into the breach, only to discover that Hikigama-sensei had been appointed his form teacher.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Kiyomi ingratiated herself into the club by baking cupcakes with each club members' initial in different coloured icing. Yukimura's was pink. He dropped it in the bin when no one was looking.   
  
Marui, who could scent a sweet at a dozen paces, turned up out of curiosity and stayed to finish the extra cupcakes. Because Kiyomi's duties included watching practices, he consented to stay and didn't even complain when Yukimura assigned him the fifty laps he so sorely needed.   
  
"Kiyomi-kun seems nice," ventured Yanagi. "Don't make that horrible face, she's watching."   
  
"She's an interloper," said Yukimura, gritting his teeth behind a smile.   
  
"She'll be excellent for morale," countered Yanagi. "Effort is up by fifty percent, not to speak of attendance." He raised his eyebrows at Marui, who was puffing and red-faced at the back of the group. "Besides, now you'll have more time to devote to your studies."   
  
"I didn't particularly want it," muttered Yukimura. Yanagi, who as Yukimura's main tutor knew how much he actually needed it, had the grace to remain silent.   
  
Yukimura sent Yanagi off to battle with the ball machines and called Niou over. His hair was still slicked down from the water balloon dousing earlier in the day.   
  
"I want you to brush up on your mimic Laser Beam, since I take it Yagyuu won't be here to do it," said Yukimura crisply.   
  
"What d'you mean, buchou? Yagyuu's over there doing swing practice." With his widened eyes, Niou looked like an albino seal. Yukimura followed his pointing finger.   
  
"Well," said Yukimura, "that's good, if surprising."   
  
"I might have told him Kiyomi Kita was becoming the manager." Niou smirked. "He hasn't had a crack at her yet."   
  
"You'd better tell him she's off-limits for club members."   
  
"Please don't make me, buchou! I'm too young to die!"   
  
"Go warm up," ordered Yukimura. "I'll tell him, we need to have a talk anyway."   
  
"You are both merciful and wise," called Niou as he sped off.   
  
Yukimura strode over to Yagyuu, rubbing his neck. He longed to get on the weight machines and build up his arms for power shots, but first he had to dispatch all his duties as captain.   
  
"Buchou," acknowledged Yagyuu, his eyes slitted indolently behind his glasses. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"   
  
"That's what I should ask you. If the only reason you're here is to chat up the manager, you may as well leave now. Intraclub dating is against the rules."   
  
"That's a pity," said Yagyuu. "Keeping her for yourself, are you?"   
  
"Not likely," snorted Yukimura. "Listen, Yagyuu, you know you'd be a valuable asset to this team. But you'll have to be _part_ of the team too. The older members already feel I'm stealing their glory --"   
  
"And if they thought you were sneaking me in they'd get even more ratty," sighed Yagyuu. "I understand. I'll be here; I miss playing. Besides, perhaps the fair Kiyomi has a sister."   
  
From the door of the weights room, Yukimura inspected his team. Despite Kirihara looking mutinous in the middle of a group of freshmen picking up balls, overall it ran like a well-oiled machine. Niou was spotting Yagyuu for stretches as if they'd never missed a day. During a rally with a third-year, Marui managed to walk the ball along the net and nearly fainted from joy. Kiyomi's cheers seemed to hearten him even more.   
  
Yukimura was prepared to admit that she mightn't be a totally pernicious influence.   
  
+_+_+   
  
A few days later, Yukimura had revised his far too charitable opinion.   
  
Kiyomi, he decided, was a marshmallow martinet. She'd already challenged him on the arrangement of the ranking tables, which he'd refused to let her do for him.   
  
"According to club rules, the players are supposed to be allotted randomly," she said, breathing mint in his face.   
  
"They are," said Yukimura, leaning back.   
  
"Then why are you, Sanada, Yanagi, Kirihara, Yagyuu and Niou all in different blocks? It means none of you will be playing each other."   
  
"Do you have a point?" snapped Yukimura.   
  
"Those are the people who played with you in middle school and some of the strongest players in the club," she persisted, "yet none of them are in a position to challenge each other for a place on the Regulars. It seems a bit fishy to me."   
  
"That's probably just the smell of those pies you baked," drawled Yukimura, who knew perfectly well they were beef. "You're accusing me of bias?"   
  
"Well, yes." Up close, Kiyomi had a downy upper lip that protruded over her lower one. It made her look petulant when she was trying to be assertive.   
  
"Fine," said Yukimura, "you're absolutely right. I'm biased in favour of developing the very best team possible from the material at hand, something you know absolutely nothing about, so back off!"   
  
This warning she did not take to heart. The very next week they clashed again, this time over training menus. Yukimura had been happy enough to delegate these to her, as they were finicky things requiring a thorough assessment of each player's fitness status. Despite the glitter-pen handwriting and star-shaped stickers, he grudgingly admired her promptness in completing them -- until he found out she hadn't.   
  
"This menu for Marui is a bit strenuous," he remarked. He'd called Kiyomi away from distributing homemade natto in secret sauce, which irritated the players who hadn't yet got a taste.   
  
"Marui -- oh, the plump guy with pink hair?" Kiyomi shrugged. "He needs to shape up, right? Inui-san recommended this regime particularly."   
  
"What did you say? _Inui_?" Yukimura's voice dropped two octaves. "What's he doing giving advice on my players' training menus?"   
  
Kiyomi blinked at him, non-plussed, like a mole emerging into the sunlight. "He was the one who drew them up, Yukimura-buchou."   
  
" _What_?" The whole team looked over at Yukimura's wail. Everyone except Kirihara and Yanagi thought they'd see a dog walk on its hind legs before Yukimura would raise his voice. "Please tell me you're joking!"   
  
"No, I'm not." Kiyomi sounded distressed now. "I didn't know you disapproved of Inui-san too." Too? thought Yukimura. What does she mean, too? "I met him one day when he was waiting for Renji-kun --" Renji-kun? What was next -- Masaharu-chan? _Genichirou_? "-- and when I introduced myself he said he had some data to share if I wanted it. He's around here so much, I assumed he was a friend of yours who always does this."   
  
"Inui," ground out Yukimura, "is not my friend. Up till apparently two weeks ago he wasn't Renji's friend either, or anyone else's! The data he gave you came from spying on us so he could leak the information to his own team. In Seigaku! Who are one of our rivals, in case you missed that one too!"   
  
"Hey!" A glaring Marui put his arm around Kiyomi's shaking shoulders. "Don't yell at her, buchou. She didn't know."   
  
"She should have done!" This shouting thing was great, Yukimura realised. It was much more satisfying than talking to people in deeply disappointed tones, even if they glowered at you more this way. "Renji, take down those menus and rip them up. I'll have to redo them myself."   
  
"If I may, Seiichi," said Yanagi silkily, "these menus are extremely good, even if they were designed by an enemy. I don't think even I could come up with better. Why not keep them?"   
  
"Um, because Inui did them, so he'll know exactly how we're training?" Yukimura looked at Yanagi like he was stupid, which must have been a first for him.   
  
"Sada -- Inui will assume that we did as you suggested. This will fox him completely."   
  
"I'm glad you're so certain of his thinking processes!"   
  
"Thank you." Bloody Yanagi looked totally unruffled in the face of Yukimura's unprecedentedly visible rage.   
  
"Oh, go do fifty laps. And Marui, you do seventy." When Marui started to protest, Yukimura snarled, "As per your training menu. Go!"   
  
The rest of the club members, who were less suave than Yanagi when confronted with Yukimura's wrath, surged out of the clubhouse. Kiyomi straightened her shoulders.   
  
"You can't imagine how sorry I am, Yukimura-buchou."   
  
"I hope not, because you should be more sorry than anyone can imagine. Jeez," Yukimura shook his head, "consorting with the opposition! What'll you do next, start distributing his poisonous juices before practice?"   
  
"So I should throw away the box of recipes he gave me, then?" said Kiyomi meekly. Yukimura stared at her, open-mouthed. "Yukimura-buchou? I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura decided to take a leaf out of Seigaku's book, since they were leaving their books all over Rikkai, and take his team on a training weekend away after the Regionals. The Regionals had been, in Niou's words, 'a piece of piss.' Just like every other year, Rikkai had decimated the opposition in every match. Yukimura no longer regarded the Regionals as a challenge but more of a hurdle to be overcome on the route to Nationals, where the real contest lay.   
  
He made Kiyomi double-check all the details with him, which was far more exhausting than if he'd just done it himself. ('Will I arrange for scented soaps in the bathroom, Yukimura-buchou?' 'No! Just book twenty beds, all right?')   
  
He was bringing the Regulars, consisting of all the old squad except Marui and two newbies for D2, plus the Pre-Regulars and subs. This was mainly so Marui could accompany them despite having failed to gain a Regulars spot, but he didn't appear to appreciate the gesture. He complained about not making the team, he complained about riding in a different bus, he complained about Yukimura being sharp with Kiyomi.   
  
At that point Yukimura snapped. "I have to be sharp with Kiyomi. She wouldn't know she was awake unless someone told her."   
  
Marui stormed off to the other bus in a huff, and pointedly ignored the apologetic and wholly untruthful text message Yukimura sent an hour later.   
  
Things were sticky on the Regulars' bus as well. Yagyuu snagged the place by Kiyomi, so Niou consented to sit beside Kirihara instead. Unfortunately, their seat was right behind Yanagi's. Kirihara spent most of his time putting tiny bits of paper in Yanagi's new up-do, aided and abetted by an unrepentant Niou.   
  
Yukimura sat at the back with Sanada, who fell asleep as soon as the wheels started turning. Yukimura's order to leave Yanagi alone fell on deaf ears. The four o'clock start left him too tired to get up and forcibly remove Kirihara from Yanagi's vicinity.   
  
Yukimura also needed to make the third year D2 pair feel more welcome. They were sitting at the front, ignoring both each other and the rest of the team. Their tennis was compatible, but obviously their personalities were not. If Jackal had been there, Yukimura could have sent him over to parlay with them. Jackal, so obviously an outsider, appealed to other people on the edge. But Jackal wasn't here and Yukimura's eyes were slipping...   
  
He was jerked awake two hours later, when the bus pulled over at a rest-stop. He was embarrassed to realise that he'd been napping on Sanada's shoulder, sprawled all over him like a puppy. Fortunately, Yukimura awoke first and was able to extricate himself before Sanada realised what had happened.   
  
"Ten minute break," he called. There was a small convenience store beside the public toilets, around which the team clustered like a herd of starving geese. Yukimura left them to it and climbed back aboard the bus. Sanada was taking precise bites of squid stuffed with steamed rice from an eki-ben, staring abstractedly out the window.   
  
"Another hour and we'll be at the training camp," Yukimura told him. He'd filched some apple-flavoured gum from Marui earlier and he popped a couple of pieces into his mouth.   
  
"Aa," replied Sanada, turning to face him. He frowned. "Didn't you buy some proper food?"   
  
"Not hungry."   
  
"You could have some of mine," offered Sanada. The rice was sludgy and the squid grey, but for some reason Yukimura was sorely tempted. The engraved silver chopsticks -- a birthday present from Yanagi, who'd got the same for Yukimura -- looked like needles in Sanada's large, square hands.   
  
"No, that's all right," said Yukimura at last. "I won't take your food. Thanks, though."   
  
Sanada shrugged, polished off the rest in a few mouthfuls and slid the box back into his bag. "Nikita and Aitu seem a bit isolated," he remarked.   
  
Yukimura realised guiltily that he hadn't known the third years' names until now. "Hopefully this weekend will help them integrate better. And there are more third years on the other bus."   
  
"Hmm." Sanada folded his hands in his lap. Irrelevantly, Yukimura noticed that his nails were square as well. "You should be careful. The third years might band against you if their resentment is strong enough."   
  
"In that case I'll send Kiyomi to negotiate," said Yukimura dryly. "She gets on so well with the enemy."   
  
Out of the corner of his eye Yukimura saw Sanada smile again, just for the flicker of a heartbeat.   
  
In the toilet mirror Yanagi had discovered his new hair ornaments and refused point-blank to sit anywhere near Kirihara. Seizing his chance, Yukimura sent him to sit next to Aitu after being informed by Sanada that Aitu too liked Heian period poetry, and called Nikita to the back.   
  
Yukimura had to dredge up every last bit of charm he'd inherited from his mother to keep the conversation going. Sanada's usual reserve kept him silent except when the extremes of politeness forced him to speak, and Nikita had about as many interesting facets as a futon. Still, he seemed marginally happier by the time they disembarked, while Yanagi and Aitu were getting on like a house on fire.   
  
Yukimura was wearied but hardly surprised to find that instead of two dormitories to house ten people each, Kiyomi had booked one dormitory to hold fifteen, two single rooms and a double room. Kiyomi took one single room and Kirihara another, after Yanagi, backed by Aitu, declared that he'd rather sleep outside than in a dorm with Kirihara. Too afraid of mosquito-borne malaria and the dire consequences of shutting Kirihara and Yanagi in the same room to argue, Yukimura acquiesced.   
  
"And you and Sanada-fukubuchou can have the double room." Kiyomi beamed at Sanada.   
  
Sanada blushed.   
  
Yukimura's stomach dropped. He knew Marui had a crush the size of a family pizza on Kiyomi, while Yagyuu and most of the team wanted to score with her because of the wonderful treats she baked them, but Sanada? And why exactly did it matter? Yukimura thought Kiymoi was a prize idiot, but most people thought she was just a prize. Sanada's bad taste was none of Yukimura's business, and in any case shouldn't make Yukimura's chest constrict like he'd heard there was a death in the family. Surely.   
  
"As usual, we'll just have to live with the consequences of your incompetence," Yukimura managed to say, to a Look of Bloody Death from Marui. "Everyone, get changed. We're going for a ten mile hike before lunch. Anyone who's late doesn't eat at all."   
  
"But Yukimura-buchou, I'm cooking," protested Kiyomi. "I can make enough --"   
  
"Please, just concentrate on not giving us food poisoning." Yukimura's tone was falsely respectful. Kiyomi's eyes narrowed.   
  
An argument was averted only when shrieks emanated from Kirihara's room. He'd found a field-mouse in his bag. Although it had run away, far more frightened of Kirihara than Kirihara was of it, Kirihara was huddled in a ball shaking with fear.   
  
"I _hate_ mice," he snuffled into Yukimura's chest, to whom he'd clung like a little kid.   
  
"It must have hopped in by mistake when we stopped," Yukimura comforted him. "Anyway, it's gone now."   
  
But Kirihara was impossible to console, and a frustrated Yukimura left him to Kiyomi's tender mercies while he led the hike.   
  
"Funny, I never knew Kirihara was so terrified of rodents," he grumbled to Sanada. Sanada shrugged in equal bewilderment.   
  
Beside them, Yanagi hid a smirk and muttered, "Ii data."   
  
+_+_+   
  
Lunch was followed by a punishing schedule of exercise manoeuvres, involving the cunning use of cones, hoops, coloured balls and the almost vertical stone steps leading down to the courts. Even Yukimura wanted to kill himself by the end, although certainly not as much as everyone else did.   
  
The team were almost too tired to eat and only Marui did justice to Kiyomi's superb meal of charcoal-grilled eel in teriyaki sauce. He'd had a more gruelling day than most because he was so out of condition. Yukimura didn't upbraid Kiyomi for slipping Marui specially made dumplings for dessert; after all, he didn't want Marui falling into some kind of hypoglycaemic coma.   
  
Yukimura went to bed early to save himself the indignity of falling asleep on the table. He fell instantly into an exhausted slumber, but was woken from it in the early hours of the morning by a nightmare.   
  
Yukimura had been having nightmares for a few years now. They always got worse when he was tired or stressed. He could never remember the details, except for a few vivid and incomprehensible snatches. But he always woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding and panting for breath. Lately, he'd also taken to kicking off his sheets and pyjama bottoms as well, which led to the humiliation of finding he'd come all over himself.   
  
Miserably mopping up whilst trying not to make a noise, Yukimura thanked his lucky stars that Sanada had slept on throughout. But he couldn't count on that continuing, so he pulled on his spare set of pyjama bottoms and crept to the bathrooms to wash out the others.   
  
He wondered what excuse he could make for hanging his sopping nightclothes out the window to dry. Perhaps he wouldn't have to make one, because there was every likelihood that Sanada wouldn't ask. Still, he whipped off his pyjama shirt too and dunked it in the sink. That way, he could pretend he'd washed the whole set because he was crazily clean, or something.   
  
He was just wringing out the cloth as best he could when Niou wandered in, eyes slitted from sleep. He was dressed in a voluminous t-shirt bearing the slogan 'Geeks are for life, not just for Xmas' and faded boxer shorts that showed off his fluffy white legs.   
  
"You're up late," he observed on spotting Yukimura, who was trying to lounge casually against the sink. "Or do I mean early?"   
  
"It's four am," Yukimura told him. "We have to be up in two hours."   
  
"That means two hours more sleep." Niou slouched into a cubicle. "Are you going to be long, buchou, because there's fourteen other guys in that dorm and I actually came in here for a little privacy."   
  
"What? Oh." Yukimura's skin prickled with embarrassment. "I'm just leaving."   
  
"Ah." Niou opened his eyes a little wider. "Strange time to be doing laundry, isn't it?"   
  
"I couldn't sleep." The prickles were turning into knives.   
  
Niou scratched his head. His hair, matted and whorled from slumber, looked even more like a dead hedgehog than usual. "Please ... please don't tell me it's Sanada."   
  
Yukimura gaped at him, wondering what he meant. Then the penny dropped. "No!" he hissed, far too vehemently. He cast around for something to convince Niou. "Actually, it's --" he grabbed the first name that came to mind "-- it's Kiyomi."   
  
"I knew it! I knew there was some reason you were always ragging on her." Niou sounded delighted with himself. "Good luck. A little bird told me she has a crush on someone in the club. You're always arguing, so there's a good chance it's you."   
  
This information made Yukimura feel wretched, on more than one level. He seriously doubted that Kiyomi liked him, but if she did that made him a total bastard. And was that how you knew someone liked you 'like that' -- because they were always arguing with you? _Sanada_ never argued with him. Sanada never argued with anyone. It would be like trying to fight a lightening bolt. They just didn't talk back.   
  
And even though Yukimura didn't remotely desire it to be so, it meant Sanada didn't like _him_.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The following day was one disaster after another.   
  
Kiyomi hadn't realised she was supposed to get up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast. Yukimura had no idea where she'd put all the food they'd brought, so the team grudgingly made do with microwave ramen left by the previous incumbents and late apples from the ground outside, which were slushy and disgusting. No one would dream of going into a girl's room to wake her, although there were many willing volunteers to peer in her window and check if she was asleep. As repeatedly ringing her mobile produced no results, Yukimura ordered his disgruntled teammates on to the courts.   
  
To challenge his players, Yukimura decided to randomly pair up doubles partners and play them off against one another. He and Nikita were thoroughly slaughtered by Aitu and Yanagi, whose gameplan consisted solely of hitting all the shots to Nikita. Nikita, whose speciality was dropshots at the net, was consistently sprinting to the baseline to fetch the balls and tiring himself out. Yukimura, who hadn't played doubles in about five years and had no idea how to help Nikita, looked on helplessly. Their 6-0, 6-0 victory only served to cement Yanagi and Aitu's growing friendship, which was at least one good thing.   
  
Marui and Niou were paired together, which was unfortunate as they'd never got along. Niou jumped for every high ball, even the ones directed at Marui, so that he could show off his toned stomach and demoralise Marui, who kept tugging his jersey down to hide the ring of fat spilling over his shorts. Niou's idea of sharing tactics was to yell 'Your ball, Fatty -- have the others dropped yet?' Marui invariably missed.   
  
Yagyuu and a second year who was shaping up to be a steady, baseline-oriented doubles player worked together extremely well, until Yagyuu accidentally brained him with a mistimed Laser Beam. The second year remained concussed for the better part of the day, because the doctor Yukimura phoned immediately took three hours to arrive.   
  
The courts on which Sanada and his third year partner played rang with the clash of racquets, as they both dived for every ball regardless of who deserved it. Things came to a head when Sanada ran diagonally back to the baseline to catch a ball on the point of going out, which had skimmed the top of the third year's racquet. The ball ripped over the third year's head, parting his hair like the Red Sea. The boy threw a monster strop and refused to play with Sanada any longer that day or for the rest of their lives, so they were retired from the impromptu tournament.   
  
The other third years comported themselves reasonably well until they had to challenge one of Yukimura's seasoned players, against whom they all lost. They retreated to the sidelines to umpire and grumble amongst themselves.   
  
Kirihara was playing singles in a doubles game with one of the third year Pre-Regulars, which was fine until they came up against Yanagi and Aitu. The fact that Yanagi and Aitu high-fived after every point and shared water bottles during breaks pushed Kirihara into a boiling rage. He battled Yanagi for every point, leaving his partner picking his nails except when, by miraculous chance, Aitu was allowed to touch the ball. Whenever that happened Kirihara would lean on his racquet like a walking stick and let his partner fetch it, ignoring it most pointedly when it bounced in front of his feet.   
  
The ridiculous play dragged the game on into a tiebreak. Aitu and Kirihara's partner fell into a furious rally. Yanagi shouted encouragement to Aitu, his eyes opening in excitement. Kirihara snarled and with a huge bound, leeched the ball away from his partner. Putting a two-handed topspin on it, he slammed it across the net into Aitu's knee.   
  
Aitu fell badly, turning his ankle and scraping open a long gash on his leg. Yanagi gave a cry of dismay. Kirihara picked up another ball and squeezed it until his knuckles popped.   
  
"My serve, isn't it?" he barked at his quailing partner, who would have agreed if he'd said the sky was green.   
  
"For crying out loud, Akaya, you promised not to pull this shit anymore!" yelled Yanagi. He abandoned helping Aitu in favour of coming to the net and screaming into Kirihara's face.   
  
"You mean he's done this kind of thing before?" said Aitu weakly. "What is he, a demon monster?"   
  
"Don't call him that," snarled Yanagi, "it's insulting to all demon monsters."   
  
Kirihara's face crumpled. "Fuck you!" he spat and threw his racquet full force at Yanagi. Yanagi ducked and the racquet slammed into Aitu's leg just as he'd got to his feet. But Kirihara had already fled the court.   
  
Yukimura had been standing on the hill for better reception as he tried calling the doctor again. He was nearly toppled by a sobbing Kirihara as he came back down the stone steps. Yukimura didn't need to see the pool of blood around a crumpled Aitu to know what had happened.   
  
"Games over!" he called, his expression as dark and threatening as he could make it. "Since you like her so much, Marui, you go and see if that stupid girl has found the food. Everyone else, take five."   
  
Yanagi had his arm around Aitu, who was red in the face from holding back tears. The cut on his leg was long and had plenty of gravel rubbed into it from his second fall, but Yukimura was more worried about the twisted ankle. Skin healed so much better than ligaments.   
  
"You'd better get that little psychopath off the team," said Yanagi, who sounded hysterical. "Either he goes or I do, Seiichi!"   
  
"We'll discuss this later," replied Yukimura firmly. "Aitu, can you stand?"   
  
"Are you listening to me? I said --"   
  
" _Later_ ," thundered Yukimura. "Get the first aid kit." Incredibly, Yanagi hesitated. " _Now_ , Renji! Do you want this to get infected?"   
  
That spurred Yanagi into a gallop and brought the light of fear into Aitu's eyes. "Will I be all right soon, buchou? I don't want to let the team down."   
  
"I'm sure you don't." Yukimura bit his lip as he inspected the wound. "Good thing the doctor's coming anyway, I'll get him to take a look at this. You've definitely sprained your ankle, so that's gonna take a few weeks of rest and a pressure bandage, at least."   
  
"A few weeks? Oh, no." A tear trickled down Aitu's cheek. Yukimura pretended not to see as he savagely wiped it away. "I just don't understand, what did I do to make Kirihara so mad? I've never even talked to him before!"   
  
"Oh, Kirihara can be difficult," said Yukimura evasively. "Broken home, you know. He has a lot of rage."   
  
"Maybe he should see a counsellor." Using Yukimura's shoulder for leverage, Aitu pulled himself up. The bleeding, which had slowed to a sluggish stream, cascaded once more in a scarlet waterfall.   
  
"You'd better just lie still, I think." Hastily Yukimura pushed him back down and elevated the injured leg. "Where the hell is Renji with that first aid kit?"   
  
He looked at the steps hopefully, but all they yielded was Kiyomi. Looking fresh as a daisy from her extended sleep-in, she was bearing a tray laden with glasses.   
  
"Freshly-squeezed lemonade for the hardest-working team in Japan!" she fluted. The team, warier than ever after Kirihara's latest outburst, greeted her arrival like a heavenly vision.   
  
'You're the best, Kiyomi-chan' and 'Will you marry me, Kiyomi?' floated across the four corners of the court. Unable to leave Aitu, Yukimura ground his teeth. A few more months of Kiyomi's stellar management and he'd have to sue her for dentures.   
  
But Kiyomi had spotted them. "Whatever happened to you, Aitu-kun?" she trilled in horror.   
  
"Kirihara did," said Yukimura succinctly. "Where were you this morning? And more to the point, where was our breakfast?"   
  
"I got up to make it," Kiyomi frowned prettily, "but you were all gone! Lunch is nearly ready, though."   
  
"Please note," growled Yukimura, "that we expect breakfast at six. That's six am. In the morning. Get Marui to programme your alarm if you run into difficulties."   
  
"My deepest apologies, Yukimura-buchou." Kiyomi bowed, giving Yukimura and Aitu a front-row view of her cleavage. "Would you like some lemonade?"   
  
"No," said Yukimura.   
  
"Yes _please_ ," said Aitu, who seemed unaccountably perkier.   
  
The last straw was watching Kiyomi trot over to Sanada with the biggest glass of lemonade. Expecting Sanada to thank her briefly and move away, Yukimura was shocked to see that their conversation ran into minutes, and even worse that Sanada was doing most of the talking. Yukimura felt another death-in-the-family squeeze as Sanada actually smiled at her. From what he could tell, the recipient of Kiyomi's crush was none other than his fukubuchou -- who showed every appearance of returning it.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The doctor didn't appear too worried about the concussed second year, who was still mixing up the names of people and foods. However, Aitu's sprained ankle gave him pause.   
  
"Prefectural tournament in three weeks? Oh no, I don't think he'll be up for that at all. Got a reserve, have you?"   
  
Yes, Yukimura nodded glumly, he had a reserve. The reserve had bonded with Nikita even less than Aitu.   
  
Incensed, disappointed, and puzzlingly heartsore, Yukimura abandoned the intricate games he had planned for the evening and set the team laps instead. When Marui tentatively asked how many, Yukimura replied, "Keep going until you fall over or it gets too dark to see, whichever comes first."   
  
He visited the kitchen to find Kiyomi merrily sautéing, dicing and mixing as if her life depended on it. The second year was in a deep, Mogadon-assisted sleep. Aitu lay in the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling with a broken expression. Yukimura couldn't bear to mouth platitudes. Knowing he should be doing laps with his team, Yukimura went to his room instead. He wanted to look over the entry forms Kiyomi was supposed to have taken off his hands. He didn't trust her not to have messed them up, too.   
  
Darkness fell more quickly than Yukimura would have liked and the team trooped back to the boarding house, chattering like jays. Not remotely tired, Yukimura stayed up with the last few who wanted to watch a late-night movie. Even when they had gone to sleep, he remained a long time staring at the shiny black screen before reluctantly following their lead.   
  
A slice of moonlight lay across Sanada's bed, throwing his face into the high relief of Grecian marble. Yukimura stared at him in turmoil. What was happening to him? When had his mild, friendly feelings towards Sanada taken this fearful and unsettling turn? Why on earth was he jealous of Kiyomi?   
  
It wasn't as if Kiyomi would take away a close companion if she dated Sanada. Sanada had never been one for soul-baring conversations lasting hours on end, or even staple movie-and-video-game nights. His relationship with Yukimura had been strictly professional, tennis-based and, Yukimura now realised, almost totally impersonal.   
  
For some reason, that was breaking Yukimura's heart.   
  
Sanada sighed in his sleep, turning his face to rub his cheek against the pillow. With his hair soft and tousled in sleep, he looked like a baby tiger.   
  
Slowly, Yukimura became aware of the fact that Sanada's sheets were rustling as he shifted about. The cloth between his legs, painted silver by the moon, tented as Sanada's hips rolled upwards. It was then Yukimura realised that only one of Sanada's hands was visible above the covers.   
  
Oh, _no_. This he did not need to see, Sanada jerking off over Kiyomi when Yukimura suddenly and so desperately wanted it to be him. Yukimura resolutely turned away, but not before the image of Sanada's face, wet lips parted on a hungry little moan, had imprinted itself on his brain.   
  
In a daze, Yukimura found himself at the kitchen door, underneath which a wedge of light showed. He frowned, wrenching his mind away from what lay in his bedroom and trying to figure out the meaning behind this anomaly.   
  
"Kiyomi," he sighed, nudging open the door with his bare foot. "I should have known."   
  
Kiyomi looked up, eyes widened like a startled fawn. She was dressed in a thin but modestly-cut pink nightgown, from which Hello Kitty leered like a paedophile.   
  
"I'm sorry if I woke you, Yukimura-buchou," she whispered. "But I just wanted to make sure everything was ready for the morning in case I overslept again."   
  
Yukimura swept his gaze over the freshly scrubbed table. A selection of breakfast materials were arranged neatly in matching bowls, and the refrigerator stood open revealing serried ranks of less sturdy goods. He raised his eyebrows. "Good idea."   
  
Kiyomi deflated with relief. "Thank you, Yukimura-buchou."   
  
"Just Yukimura is fine," Yukimura heard himself say. "I'm not buchou of the Cookery Club."   
  
"No, that would be me." Kiyomi smiled. Her teeth were small and creamy, like freshwater pearls. "At least I was, until last year."   
  
"You're a good cook," said Yukimura. "I shouldn't have said you'd give us food poisoning."   
  
"I've made a lot of mistakes," said Kiyomi humbly. "I can't blame you for doubting me."   
  
Yukimura smiled at her, his mind far away. She was a foot shorter than him where Sanada topped him by two inches. Her shoulders were narrow and sloping where Sanada's were broad, her face open and pretty where Sanada's was stern. Yukimura could see her breasts rising and falling under the pink cloth, nipples standing to attention in the cold air.   
  
Perhaps Sanada was already dating her. Perhaps they'd had a romantic tryst behind the courts, when Yukimura was dealing with doctors and a frantic Kirihara and a furious Yanagi and a hundred and one other things. Perhaps he'd already kissed her, slipped his tongue inside her little mouth where she wouldn't taste of strawberry lipgloss.   
  
"Yukimura?" Kiyomi's nervous voice broke into his feverish imaginings. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Yukimura stepped closer to her, gratified when she didn't move away. "Are _you_ okay?"   
  
"I am now." Kiyomi played with the hem of her nightshirt, tugging it tight across her breasts. "I don't like disappointing you, you know."   
  
"Good." Yukimura slid a hand under her hair, cupping her head -- but not too roughly; she wasn't really Sanada. "Then stay still," he mumbled, losing the last words against her warm, welcoming mouth.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The news of Yukimura and Kiyomi's rapprochement spread faster than Yukimura would have believed possible. By the time the first class ended on Monday morning, everyone knew.   
  
"Reserving the right of _droit de seigneur_ , I take it?" was Yagyuu's slightly disapproving comment. Ever the gentleman, he didn't believe in coercion as a route to a lady's boudoir.   
  
Niou, as usual, relished his god-like skills of prognostication. Marui was distraught until he realised such a union would encourage rather than dry up the source of sweets, at which point he felt it behoved him to congratulate the happy couple. Yanagi, still frosty towards Yukimura for not immediately evicting Kirihara, thawed out slightly at the news. Kirihara kept his profile low by not turning up to school at all, so Yukimura was in the dark as to his opinion of the matter. Even Kunusoki -- no doubt indirectly tipped off by Niou -- managed to stop Yukimura in the hall and say how glad he was that Kiyomi was fitting in so well.   
  
Only Sanada remained mute. But Yukimura caught him looking over while they were changing for practice. He couldn't mistake the hurt in Sanada's eyes for anything else.   
  
Kiyomi's multiple annoying traits did not diminish once Yukimura started going out with her, but the benefits of their relationship were paramount. Now he could kiss her to shut her up, and she didn't object to that at all. Yukimura was nothing if not pragmatic. His newly awakened lust for Sanada was easily redirected into more feasible channels, and although a making out session with Kiyomi left Yukimura feeling hollow, it was better than nothing.   
  
Meanwhile his grades showed no significant improvement and Niou reported rumblings from the office. Kirihara had driven a wedge between Yukimura and Yanagi, because Yukimura refused to throw him off the team. Yanagi didn't make good on his threat to quit, but he was looking extremely fed up and kept sloping off practice to hang out with Aitu, and probably Inui as well. Niou was incredibly busy with preparations for Prefecturals plus all his G&T assignments. Things on the tutor front looked pretty grim until Niou suggested Sanada.   
  
"He gets good scores in everything," he pointed out. "In fact, I'm surprised you never asked him before."   
  
So was Yukimura, but the truth was that in the past he'd disregarded Sanada just as much as everyone else. Sanada never put himself forward to help, either, unlike Yanagi and Niou -- although that might have been from modesty. Now Yukimura was nervous of asking Sanada, but not because of the reason he gave Niou.   
  
"I think he likes Kiyomi. He might not be willing to help the guy who got her first."   
  
"The man of rock, liking a girl?" scoffed Niou. "I suppose stranger things have happened. I'd still ask him, buchou. The worst he can do is say no, and he's too honourable to do that. Besides, you don't have a great many other options."   
  
Yukimura screwed his courage to the sticking point, and approached Sanada after practice. Aside from the most perfunctory exchanges in their capacities as captain and vice, they hadn't spoken since the bus ride up to the training camp. At Yukimura's voice, Sanada tugged his cap forward to hide his eyes, wary like a wounded animal.   
  
"I know this is a lot to ask," said Yukimura hesitantly, "but ... well, Yanagi and Niou are busy, and I need help to study so I can finish my assignments properly. It would only be one night a week."   
  
"You're asking me to tutor you?"   
  
"Yes." Yukimura held his breath.   
  
"Which day would be convenient?"   
  
Overwhelmed that Sanada had agreed, with so little persuasion, the words tumbled out. "Any day, really, tomorrow night would be good, but whenever you're free, honestly. I'm so grateful, my worst subject is Japanese history, and --"   
  
"Buchou." Although Sanada's face was impassive, he sounded faintly amused. "Tomorrow night would be fine. I'll meet you after practice."   
  
"Thank you," Yukimura called to Sanada's retreating back. Sanada did not reply.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The day after Prefecturals, Yukimura found it difficult to concentrate on the timelines Sanada had so carefully drawn up for him. He wanted to discuss every match in painstaking detail with Sanada but was held back by shame over Kiyomi, not to mention the wave of longing that overtook him every time he looked at his vice-captain.   
  
"In 1582, Oda Nobunaga was assassinated," intoned Sanada. "What's the next thing on the timeline?"   
  
"Um." Yukimura heroically resisted the temptation to sneak a peek. "I'm not sure, but Sanada, isn't it time for a break?"   
  
"We only started ten minutes ago," Sanada reminded him. "Maybe you'd better look at the sheet for a bit longer."   
  
Obediently Yukimura hunched over the desk, but his mind soon wandered. They'd faced off against Seigaku in the finals, Seigaku who hadn't even placed in the Prefecturals last year. But now they had Tezuka as fukubuchou and singles one, and the Golden Pair back in the saddle as doubles one. Coming first certainly wasn't the walkover it had been last year.   
  
Yukimura had got to play Tezuka, as his doubles two pair had failed spectacularly to wipe the floor with the Inui-Kaidoh pair. It had negated all Yukimura's happiness that Aitu had healed well enough to play the game, and left him wondering if Aitu had lied about his fitness.   
  
Inui and Kaidoh were so in sync it was freaky, like seeing Yagyuu and Niou all over again. Yukimura half expected Inui to whip off his glasses at the end and reveal himself as the Mamushi.   
  
Yagyuu and Niou played a distracted match against the Golden Pair. They had always argued a lot, but had managed to keep their tiffs off the courts before now. Yagyuu's Laser was sloppy, and more like a blowtorch the way it jumped all over the court. Only an old injury of Oishi's flaring up, causing them to forfeit the game, took the match for Rikkai.   
  
To placate Yanagi, Yukimura had put him in singles two. Kirihara had seemed to feel this was fair, but appearances were very, very deceptive when it came to the demon ace. Kirihara won the first serve in singles three and used it to break Yamato's wrist. An impenitent Kirihara was disqualified for unsportsmanlike behaviour, and the match went to Seigaku. There was serious doubt as to whether Yamato would ever play again. Yukimura had no idea what to do about that, or about Kirihara.   
  
Momoshiro led singles two for a whole match by dint of his Jumbo Power Smashes or whatever they were called, but in the end his instinct and raw brutality were no match for Yanagi's cool-headed logic. Although just how cool and logical Yanagi actually was Yukimura thought a matter for debate. Yukimura had been furious when he'd returned from the hospital to find Sanada smacking his players around the place, but in Yanagi's case, Yukimura was starting to see his motivation.   
  
Playing Tezuka would always make for exciting tennis, but Yukimura was so distracted by the ructions in his team that he didn't break the Tezuka Zone until halfway through the second match. This had required deliberately hitting several balls out, so that he lost the match. It took quite a while to claw back victory in the last match and, although he'd never admit it, Yukimura had been in some doubt as to whether he would.   
  
The talent scout who'd interviewed both of them afterwards hadn't seemed to mind.   
  
"Boys like you are the hope for Japan," he'd enthused. "I'll be keeping a very close eye on both of you during Nationals."   
  
Tezuka bowed to Yukimura when he left, still as prim and prissy as ever. "Well played, Yukimura-kun."   
  
"You too, Tezuka-kun. And your team also."   
  
"I can't really say the same about yours." Tezuka quirked an eyebrow. "Your doubles combinations are all over the place. You're quite lucky you placed first, as I'm sure you realise."   
  
He walked off with his back ramrod straight. Yukimura longed to throw a banana skin in his path. 'All over the place,' indeed! Tezuka was damn lucky none of those doubles players had been around to hear him say that. The worst thing about the insult, of course, was that it was true. Moodily, Yukimura snapped the end off a mechanical pencil.   
  
He let his gaze drift across to the bed. Sanada's desk wasn't big enough to accommodate the two of them and, anyway, he only had one chair. Yukimura didn't think he'd survive lolling around duvet covers that smelt of Sanada, so he hadn't fought him on the issue. The angle of the desk was such that by bending his head, apparently over his books, he could see Sanada's elbow propped up on the bedpost and some of his face. Unfortunately, when he did it this time Sanada was waiting for him. He met Yukimura's eye and asked, "Finished yet?"   
  
"I guess," mumbled Yukimura. He relinquished the paper so Sanada could test him on it. At least this way he got to face Sanada and watch the way the fingers of his spare hand stroked idly through his velvet comforter -- navy blue to match the rest of the furnishings.   
  
"All right. What happened in 1582?"   
  
Yukimura looked blank. "Um..."   
  
"I just asked this a second ago?" Sanada sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "What castle was besieged in 1590?"   
  
"Uh, the Forbidden City?"   
  
"That's in China ... in the reign of King Henry the Eighth," said Sanada, "who was the Chief Duty Torturer?"   
  
Yukimura's head snapped up. "What? That wasn't on the sheet, I would have remembered that!"   
  
"Clearly that's all you remember." Sanada sighed. "I don't know how to make you concentrate. This isn't working."   
  
"It is," insisted Yukimura. Yanagi had always given him tea first, and Niou brought him up to date with all the salacious gossip. Being marched into Sanada's stark, cell-like room and being expected to study straight off the bat was tough for Yukimura, but he was determined to make it work. "I was just worried that you were angry. You know, about not playing in the Prefecturals -- especially since putting Akaya in turned out to be such a bomb."   
  
"Yes, Akaya and Enola Gay do have a lot in common," said Sanada, missing Yukimura's blank look. "But if he'd kept his head, he would have been just as good a choice as me. Besides, that's your prerogative as buchou of the team."   
  
"And I wanted to make up with Yanagi by playing him in singles two," said Yukimura dolefully, "but now he's madder at me than ever."   
  
"I think you're going to have to make a choice between them. Yanagi can't tolerate Kirihara for much longer, and Kirihara will explode more often as long as Yanagi ignores him."   
  
"Where did this come from? They didn't hate each other in middle school, surely?"   
  
Sanada raised his palms. "In middle school, they didn't know each other that well. Jackal and Marui adopted Kirihara, while Yanagi was with you. And then, of course, there was your operation. No one acted normally then. This is probably the first time they've properly come into contact with each other."   
  
"You know," said Yukimura, "I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time."   
  
"I'm sorry." Sanada frowned. "Are you ready to study now?"   
  
"No, and don't be sorry." Yukimura leaned forward, his wrists on his knees, and smiled engagingly. "Not when you're making so much sense. So which one of them can we afford to lose?"   
  
"I couldn't possibly make that decision for you," said Sanada stiffly.   
  
Yukimura leaned back again, defeated by Sanada's aloofness. He tucked one foot under his other thigh and tried to focus on the endless list of dates. It was impossible.   
  
"I was thinking of arranging a celebration, for our win," he ventured. "Maybe a karaoke night? Just the Regulars."   
  
"So Kiyomi won't be there?"   
  
Yukimura frowned at the mingled hope and defeat in Sanada's voice. "No way. She's not a Regular, although half the club would love it if she was."   
  
"You shouldn't speak that way about your girlfriend," mumbled Sanada, hiding his face in a book.   
  
"What way?"   
  
"Like you don't want her around."   
  
"Well, I don't." Yukimura was tired of discussing Kiyomi. He was conflicted enough about taking her away from Sanada when it was Sanada he really wanted. "She's terrifically boring. And she's not really my girlfriend, according to the club rules."   
  
Sanada frowned at him without looking at his face, quite a feat. "What is she then?"   
  
"What do the Americans call it?" Yukimura smiled nastily. "A fuckbuddy? I think that's it."   
  
"That's awful." Sanada sounded genuinely shocked. "You're being so disrespectful. Kiyomi-chan deserves more from you."   
  
"No one's forcing her to stay with me," snapped Yukimura. "I'm sure she gets plenty of kudos for dating the buchou of a prize-winning tennis club, so save your pity, all right?"   
  
"I don't think you realise how lucky you are -- you, and Yagyuu, and Niou," said Sanada, bitterly. "You can get girls just like that, and -- and you know what to do, so -- I'll feel sorry for who I like!" He jumped to his feet, flushed beet red. "I'll go fetch us some snacks," he added, more quietly.   
  
"Sanada -- Genichirou, wait." Sanada stopped in his tracks, looking at Yukimura with a strange expression. Yukimura put a hand on his arm. "You're right. I'm not being very kind to Kiyomi. And, by the way, we haven't."   
  
"Haven't what?" asked Sanada.   
  
"Had sex." Yukimura put on an apologetic face. "I was only winding you up, saying that."   
  
"Oh." Sanada's face was lightening by inches, as if a cool breeze was blowing on it. "Do you need a snack, then, or will you be able to study now?"   
  
"How about you get us something, and by the time you come back I'll have the page learned," suggested Yukimura, and was rewarded with that flashbulb smile.   
  
It didn't take very long to learn the boring dates once Sanada wasn't in the room distracting him. Yukimura was then at liberty to ponder Sanada's words, and realise exactly what they meant.   
  
When they'd eaten the carrot sticks and store cookies Sanada had fetched and Sanada had tested Yukimura on the timeline (word-perfect), Yukimura cocked his head and dared himself.   
  
"You know earlier?" he asked.   
  
"Mm?" Sanada suddenly developed a deep and abiding interest in the cookie crumbs on his plate.   
  
"Do you mean to say you've never ... you know ... made out with anyone?"   
  
Sanada made a face that looked like he'd just eaten a spoon of vinegar. Then, with evident reluctance, he shook his head.   
  
"What, never?" said Yukimura incredulously. "Not for dares or anything?"   
  
"I never did truth or dare." Sanada was now calculating the square root of the crumbs. "No one ever asked me."   
  
Silently, Yukimura slid off the desk chair and on to the floor beside Sanada. Sanada jerked when Yukimura's arm brushed his.   
  
"Is that why you didn't ask Kiyomi out?" he asked. "Because you had no experience?"   
  
Sanada squirmed away. He wouldn't look at Yukimura, and he was clearly incapable of answering.   
  
"I guess I'm lucky, in a way." Yukimura laughed, because it certainly hadn't felt like it at the time. "Noriko's friends always used to make me practise with them. I must have made out with half the girls in her year."   
  
"Really?" Sanada's mouth fell open slightly. Yukimura was painfully reminded of that night he'd watched Sanada sleep. Up close, Sanada's mouth was even more lush, his lips dark pink and surprisingly full.   
  
"Sure. It's like warming up before a game -- not half as good as the real thing, but kinda necessary in the long run."   
  
That achingly pretty mouth drooped. Yukimura felt horribly light-headed. He knew what Sanada was going to say, so he replied without waiting, "You can practise with me, if you like."   
  
"You're a boy," said Sanada. He sounded suspicious, as if Yukimura had been secretly hiding his gender all these years.   
  
"Yeah, but do you see any girls around?" Yukimura tried to make himself sound casual and off-hand and not as if he wanted Sanada to say yes more than practically anything, even winning Nationals again. "And, not to blow my own trumpet, but I must be pretty good at this stage. You'd be getting the benefit of my expertise and ... everything."   
  
Sanada appeared to be seriously considering it, so Yukimura forced his mouth to shut up. The last thing he needed was to sound too eager.   
  
"It wouldn't be too weird?" Sanada put it as a question.   
  
"It's only practising," Yukimura said encouragingly. "I bet Niou and Yagyuu probably practised on each other."   
  
"Yeah, when they were five." Yukimura raised his eyebrows, so Sanada elucidated, "I remember the teacher caught them at it in the bathroom."   
  
"There you go." Yukimura suppressed a giggle. Not very manly. "There's a precedent."   
  
"All right, then." Sanada looked at his watch. "We could, um, practise for five minutes and still cover the Edo era."   
  
"Perfect." Yukimura shuffled closer and put his hand on Sanada's knee. Sanada looked at it in alarm. "Relax. This is the kind of thing girls do to show you they're ready to be kissed."   
  
"Really?" Sanada watched Yukimura's thumb circling his kneecap.   
  
"Yeah, or they might do this." Yukimura stared deep into Sanada's eyes, feeling a hot thrill quiver through his own body. He reached out and clumsily pushed Sanada's hair off his face. Sanada inhaled chokily. "If we were sitting differently ... I mean, if you and she were sitting, you could put your arm around her. You know you're in if she doesn't push you away."   
  
"Right." Sanada's voice was shaky, but so was Yukimura's, so that was okay.   
  
He trailed his fingers down Sanada's face, feeling the strange spikes of stubble, until he reached Sanada's jaw. Still gently rubbing his leg, Yukimura tilted up Sanada's chin and leaned in to kiss him.   
  
For someone so rigid and detached, Sanada had soft, soft lips. Even though their mouths were barely touching, Yukimura could feel the kiss all over his body, as shivers lifted the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. He slid his hand around Sanada's neck and into his hair, and squeezed his thigh. The fabric of his tracksuit pants shifted silkily underneath his fingers. Yukimura longed to rip them off, to feel Sanada's skin where his hand was.   
  
He pulled back slightly to change the angle and dived in again, giving Sanada long, wet kisses until he got the hint and opened his mouth. And then, _then_ Yukimura could feel the slick-slippery press of Sanada's tongue against his as they really started to kiss, and Yukimura couldn't help the little 'uh' sounds of pleasure at the back of his throat, or maybe that was Sanada, or maybe it was both...   
  
It was definitely more than five minutes later when Sanada ducked away, his pulse fluttering against Yukimura's fingers like an escaping bird. Yukimura could have gone on for hours. He looked down, hoping his face wouldn't betray his ardent desire.   
  
"I --" whispered Sanada. Every muscle in Yukimura's body clenched in fear. "Back in a sec," croaked Sanada. He got to his feet and made for the door in a sort of crouching run.   
  
Yukimura stared, then smiled. He'd been so caught up in the terrible wonder that was kissing Sanada that he hadn't even realised he was hard. And on the edge, too; a few seconds work would take care of that, well before Sanada returned.   
  
Yukimura was languidly reliving that amazing kiss when it hit him, like a juggernaut, just why it had been so amazing. Sanada wasn't better than Kiyomi, or any of the others, and probably worse.   
  
But Sanada wasn't a warm-up, like they were. He was the real thing.   
  
+_+_+   
  
It was three weeks until Nationals.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Monday, Niou received the long-awaited confirmation of the departure dates for his London trip. They coincided with the last two days of the Nationals tournament.   
  
"I'm really, really sorry," he apologised, so glibly that Yukimura figured he must have practised beforehand. He wondered how long Niou had been sitting on this news, afraid to share it. "But this is the opportunity of a lifetime, Yukimura, don't you see? There are chances of scholarships and placements abroad if I catch the eye of the judges."   
  
Yukimura didn't bother pointing out that talent scouts at Nationals also had that kind of power. Niou obviously had his heart set on this. It would be no use trying to talk him out of it, because it wouldn't change his mind and would only end up creating a rift between them. Yukimura was harbouring more rifts than the Grand Canyon as it was, he didn't need another.   
  
"What'll I do with Yagyuu?" he wondered out loud.   
  
"You could team him with that second year he concussed -- Itushi. Or play him in singles with Yanagi and Sanada as doubles one." Niou had clearly thought this through.   
  
"Good idea." Yukimura could just imagine Yanagi's reaction to being put in doubles. And what a waste of two star-studded singles players. "Well, I hope you enjoy yourself, and win a lot there. The honour of Rikkai Dai rests upon your feeble shoulders."   
  
"I know that." Niou smiled, already five thousand miles away. "I won't let you down."   
  
You already have, Yukimura wanted to scream. You already have.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Tuesday, Aitu was running laps when he fell. Yukimura left practice to Sanada's leadership while he accompanied Aitu to accident and emergency, where they waited for four hours on the most uncomfortable seats ever designed. Yukimura wondered if his team had spent the night on such seats during his operation, and how the hell they'd stood it for so long.   
  
Aitu was in so much agony he didn't even try to stem the tears flowing down his face. He was clutching his leg with both hands as if he wanted to squeeze it off. Aside from a light graze on his knee, there were no outward signs of injury, which, given Aitu's suffering, did not bode well.   
  
Several thousand cups of watery tea later, Aitu was summoned by a harassed junior doctor who didn't even bother to bow. He examined Aitu with probing fingers, calmly ignoring Aitu's howls of pain.   
  
"Tendon injury, I'd say," the doctor diagnosed. "I'll sent him for X-rays in case something's broken, but I doubt it."   
  
"And his playing?" Yukimura asked with bated breath.   
  
"Playing? What, you mean sport?" The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "From what I can tell this is an old injury exacerbated by excessive force. Have you been playing injured, young man?"   
  
" _Damn_ it." Yukimura buried his fist in his other palm. Aitu was nearly delirious, but he managed to nod. It was a pity he was in pain already, and so wouldn't notice if Yukimura cut his head off with a scalpel. That was doubles two screwed, as well.   
  
Yukimura joined a band of smokers outside the hospital entrance to call Aitu's parents. He then rang Sanada and informed him that they were down another doubles player.   
  
Sanada's voice was crackly as it came down the line. "We'll just have to put Yagyuu and Itushi in doubles two, and myself and Yanagi in doubles one."   
  
"So that leaves me in singles one, Kirihara in singles two ..."   
  
"And a third year Pre-Regular in singles three."   
  
"That's too dangerous, what if he loses?" said Yukimura fretfully. "Kirihara'll have to be singles three."   
  
"Please calm down, Yukimura. We'll figure something out." There was a pause. "Kiyomi's here, do you want to speak to her?"   
  
"No, I fucking don't!" snapped Yukimura, and hung up.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Wednesday, Yanagi came into the clubhouse after practice and found Yukimura tearing his hair out over the line-up.   
  
"Renji," said Yukimura in relief. "Please tell me you have some good news. Like maybe Niou's managed to clone himself or something."   
  
"I'm afraid not." Yanagi slapped a piece of paper on to Yukimura's overcrowded desk.   
  
"What's this?" Yukimura eyed it warily.   
  
"A transfer form," said Yanagi. "For me to Seigaku. Unless you get rid of Kirihara by Friday, I'm leaving. Transfers take a fortnight to go through, so I'll be playing for Seigaku at Nationals."   
  
"You can't do this!" Yukimura felt his throat closing up. "As a _friend_ , you can't do this to me."   
  
"A friend wouldn't have let Kirihara continue to torment me all these months." Yanagi rubbed his cheek and refused to meet Yukimura's eye. "You don't get it, I can't stand to be around him. It was okay before, he's kind of funny in small doses, but all the time, Yukimura! All the time! I'm afraid to look behind me in case he's there. I have to eat lunch in the _toilets_. I hate it."   
  
Bowled over by the strength of Yanagi's feelings, Yukimura moved too slowly to stop him walking out.   
  
"Oh no, oh no." Yukimura stuffed a trembling hand into his mouth to stop a scream. He stood to lose a singles player no matter what he did. They were courting defeat as it was; the line-up Yanagi was forcing into being hardly stood a chance of getting through preliminaries, never mind finals. And it was all his fault for not taking Yanagi seriously.   
  
This time he couldn't bear to ring Sanada. Let it fester for a while, until he figured out what the hell he was going to do.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Thursday, Yukimura had a tutoring session with Sanada. As usual, it started off with snacks, followed by Sanada leaving Yukimura alone to learn timelines, equations or vocabulary. Sanada returned, tested Yukimura, and picked over what he'd got wrong.   
  
The best part came last, when Sanada 'practised' kissing with Yukimura. He'd improved in leaps and bounds in the last two months, although Yukimura never told him so in case he wanted to stop. Yukimura lived for these stolen afternoons. Sometimes, under the guise of acting, he managed to slip a hand under Sanada's shirt to stroke that magnolia-white belly, or undo a few buttons to let the collar slip down Sanada's shoulders. In the heat of kissing Sanada didn't notice, although when he came back from the bathroom his shirt was always buttoned up to the neck.   
  
Yukimura's head was in bits with worry. He mixed up the English words for cat and tomato sandwich, which left Sanada flabbergasted.   
  
"They don't even sound the same," he said more than once.   
  
"I'm just tired." Yukimura reached up to touch the back of Sanada's neck. This was always a cue to move the study session on to anatomy, as it was too difficult for either of them to say, 'Hey, wanna make out now?'   
  
But Sanada shrugged away. Thinking he was angry about the vocabulary, Yukimura tangled his fingers with Sanada's instead. This time there was no mistaking what was happening when Sanada whipped his hand back and got to his feet.   
  
"I don't think," he muttered, while Yukimura stared up at his long, graceful neck and felt everything die inside, "I don't think this is a good idea any more. I've ... you have a girlfriend, and it's not right."   
  
"Oh." In a daze, Yukimura scooped up his books, unwittingly taking his snack plate and a pile of Sanada's calligraphy paper with them. "I'll just go, then."   
  
"It would be for the best." Sanada turned pleading eyes on Yukimura, as if begging him to understand. But Yukimura couldn't bear to look at him.   
  
There were a pile of trash cans awaiting collection at Sanada's gate. Yukimura regarded them thoughtfully for a while, then dumped everything -- his books, homework assignments, study notes and all Sanada's meticulous diagrams and timelines -- into one that was brimful of food scraps.   
  
As if from a great distance, Yukimura heard his mobile ring. He frantically dug it out of his pocket, hoping against hope that it was Sanada calling to say he was sorry, to say come back, to say anything at all --   
  
"Moshi-moshi, Yuki-chan," chirped Kiyomi. "How are you? Listen, I was just calling to tell you that my parents have a high school reunion tonight, so I have the apartment to myself. You could come over for dinner, if you like. I'll make your favourite!"   
  
On the point of curtly refusing, Yukimura paused. He thought he'd seen a flicker of movement at Sanada's bedroom window. But it was only the wind lifting the curtains.   
  
"I'd love to," he said.   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Thursday night, Yukimura took Kiyomi to bed for the first and, it turned out, last time.   
  
He'd come over to her flat with nothing further from his mind. His parents were out of town all week and Noriko had taken the opportunity to sleep over at a friend's house, where they'd undoubtedly ring up every boy in Noriko's phone book and pretend to be talking frogs. For some reason this was their favourite pastime. The prospect of an empty house and, even worse, an empty fridge daunted Yukimura.   
  
Kiyomi was a good cook, there was no getting away from that. However, in Yukimura's current state of mind she could have served him up fried cardboard with newspaper relish and it would have tasted the same. He finished every scrap although it nearly choked him, and thanked her politely.   
  
"I guess I'd better go," he said tonelessly. "Your parents will be back soon."   
  
"No way, they won't be back for hours. I want to show you my bedroom, Yuki-chan!"   
  
Yukimura vaguely remembered that she'd wanted him to call her Ki-chan. Seeing as he rarely called her anything, he'd never had to suffer that particular ignominy.   
  
Her bedroom was the size of a shoebox, decorated in a sunset symphony of pastel pinks. She had a whole shelf devoted to Hello Kitty paraphernalia. The endlessly smiling noseless faces put Yukimura on edge.   
  
Kiyomi plumped down on the bed, pulling Yukimura with her. He fell awkwardly against the wall, jarring his shoulder.   
  
She put her hand on his knee and tilted her head coyly. Sickeningly, Yukimura remembered his words to Sanada: _this is the kind of thing girls do to show you they're ready to be kissed_.   
  
"Yukimura," she whispered, just before their mouths met, "you can ... you know. If you want."   
  
"Huh?" Yukimura's eyes crossed as he tried to focus on hers, less than an inch away. Kiyomi giggled and pushed his hand under her skirt. " _Oh_. That."   
  
"Yeah," said Kiyomi breathlessly. She wriggled around until Yukimura felt the lace edging on her panties.   
  
"Are you sure?" gasped Yukimura, who wasn't and was dying for her to say no.   
  
"Oh, yes." Kiyomi looked up at him trustingly. "There are thingies under my pillow."   
  
The 'thingies' turned out to be condoms. Yukimura gulped. He had no idea how to use them. With fumbling hands he unzipped his school trousers and pushed them down. Kiyomi obligingly opened her legs, her skirt tumbling into a puddle round her hips.   
  
"You're not hard," Kiyomi accused him, plunging a hand into his boxers. Yukimura's eyes crossed again as sharp nails raked his sensitive flesh. It was by closing his eyes to slits and pretending Sanada's nails had grown two inches that Yukimura got there at all.   
  
In the end, it was Kiyomi who slid the condom on and guided him inside her. Still pretending for all he was worth that she wasn't a girl, the hot, sticky wetness inside her took Yukimura completely by surprise. In two shallow thrusts he came and he rolled on to his back, gasping.   
  
Beside him Kiyomi yanked her skirt back down. "I have got to find a boy with more stamina," she grumbled. "I don't suppose you've even heard of the clitoris, have you?"   
  
"What?" Yukimura's eyes snapped open. "Listen, Kiyomi, I'd better go. Your parents --"   
  
"Oh, just leave," said Kiyomi in disgust. "And Yukimura? It's terribly bad manners to grunt someone _else's_ name when you come. Just so you know."   
  
+_+_+   
  
On Friday, Yukimura couldn't face the thought of going to school. Too many reproachful faces awaited him there: Yanagi, on the verge of transferring to Seigaku and Inui's open arms. Kirihara, stuck between a rock and a no-tennis zone. Kiyomi -- oh gods, what a balls he'd made of _that_. And Sanada. Yukimura didn't dare even think about Sanada.   
  
The house phone rang four times that morning. His mobile might have rung more, but Yukimura had taken the precaution of switching it to message minder.   
  
Yukimura stayed huddled in bed. He couldn't stop shivering. Worse, he couldn't stop his brain skidding from one catastrophe to the next, like water circling a plughole.   
  
In the afternoon, hunger drove him downstairs. Opening cupboard after cupboard, Yukimura found only stale rice-cakes and his mother's hidden stash of sake. The cleaner, who did the grocery shopping while his parents were away, wasn't due until Saturday. Yukimura debated using the emergency money to order a pizza versus experimenting with a starvation diet. He'd settled on pizza when the phone rang just as he was about to pick it up. Deciding it was karma, Yukimura poured the sake over the rice-cakes instead, which softened them up nicely.   
  
By four-thirty, Yukimura had discovered that sake tasted much better without rice-cakes. He was also starting to worry that because school was over, his sister or his teammates might think it incumbent upon themselves to dig him out of his hole. He took the second bottle of sake (the level was already perilously low) upstairs to keep him company while he changed out of his pyjamas.   
  
Sake cast a rosy glow over everything, even the dreadful dragon shirt his mother had inflicted on him. At least the indigo looked well teamed with jeans Yukimura had never worn nor seen before. They were a dusty cream colour, had frangipani transfers on the back pockets and were castratingly tight. Yukimura had a vague feeling some of Noriko's clothes had got into his wardrobe by mistake, but in the fluffy cloud insulating him from reality it didn't seem that important.   
  
Yukimura caught a bus into Shinjuku. He'd filled a water bottle with the last of the sake and tucked the emergency pizza money into his shoes. He rode the bus to the end of the line and caught another, and another. As darkness fell it went into battle with the lights coming on all over Tokyo. In Yukimura's muddled view, it looked like a gigantic Christmas bauble. If New York was the city that never slept, Tokyo was the city that never turned its lights off.   
  
His problems faded away one by one, until all he was left with was Sanada's face. He recalled it in every detail, as it looked just after being kissed: the pale skin flushed a dusky pink, stubble standing out dark against his jawline, and thick dark lashes curling on his cheeks as his eyes fluttered closed. Yukimura stumbled off the bus and down the street. He came to a halt under yet another neon sign.   
  
"I'm gay," he realised, with a mixture of elation and dread. "I'm gay."   
  
"You've come to the right place, then," drawled a voice through a haze of cigarette smoke. Yukimura started. The eyes above the glowing cigarette rolled. "Honestly, baby boy, what are you like? This is a gay club."   
  
"Oh." Yukimura squinted upwards. The kanji wavered and danced in front of his eyes. "I didn't mean to."   
  
"So you just happened to have a revelation right here?" The man -- boy? -- flicked his ash on to Yukimura's shoe. "That's convenient."   
  
"Not really, I just don't want to go home," explained Yukimura.   
  
"Same here. This place is over 21s," the boy jerked his thumb at the sign, "so I'm just hanging around in case someone feels lonely."   
  
Sake insulated you from fear, too, while upping natural quotients of curiosity. "Why? Are you a prostitute?"   
  
"Why, are you paying?"   
  
"I don't need to pay," said Yukimura haughtily. "I had sex with a girl just last night."   
  
"You poor thing. Here." The boy held the stub of his cigarette to Yukimura's lips, calloused fingers brushing his chin. "The shock must have been something terrible."   
  
"Yes, I suppose it was," said Yukimura, inhaling and proceeding to cough up a lung. The boy looked amused.   
  
"I know one surefire cure for that kind of shock," he said, taking back his cigarette. "I could show you if you're interested. Name's Akutsu, by the way. What's yours?"   
  
+_+_+   
  
The love hotel was only a few blocks away, which was good because Akutsu was still killing himself laughing.   
  
"The prince of tennis himself, out trawling for trade," he choked. "I love it."   
  
"Are you paying for this room or am I?" demanded Yukimura, nettled.   
  
"Oh, I'll pay." Akutsu crowded him into the doorway so he could grab Yukimura's ass as they went through. "The girl never pays."   
  
Yukimura could guess what _that_ meant.   
  
The sleepy-eyed receptionist didn't even look up as two teenaged boys bought a room for the night. Yukimura, who had expected Akutsu to go for the cheapest one-hour option, didn't know whether to be frightened or flattered.   
  
"Come on, princess," growled Akutsu, his smoke-roughened voice sending strange shivers down Yukimura's spine. "We're room 203."   
  
Yukimura took a bolstering sip of his water bottle. A small voice deep below the alcoholic fug was screaming at him. Yukimura slugged back another quarter-bottle to drown it completely.   
  
Akutsu had already toed off his shoes, so Yukimura did the same. Before he had time to get nervous, Akutsu was pushing him back against the wall, dry lips nuzzling his jaw.   
  
"D'you do kissing?" he mumbled, hard at work on Yukimura's shirt buttons.   
  
"Sure, why not?" Yukimura plunged both hands into Akutsu's hair, wincing at the gross feel of gel, and tugged his mouth up to meet his own. Akutsu drove his tongue straight in. He tasted of smoke, a compelling flavour that made Yukimura want to retch and made him heady with lust, all at the same time.   
  
Akutsu licked his collarbone as his shirt fell to the floor. "That dragon is gay."   
  
"Who're you calling gay?" Yukimura pushed his hips against Akutsu's, feeling the answering hardness.   
  
"Cheeky, princess." Akutsu ripped down Yukimura's zipper. "Fuck, these are tight. What'd you do, sew yourself in?"   
  
"I wish I knew," groaned Yukimura, who was battling with the skintight denim around his knees. Impatiently Akutsu shoved him against the mattress and pulled, to no avail. He dropped to the floor and braced his feet against the bedstead. Yukimura got the giggles and lolled about the bed, while Akutsu yanked with all his might.   
  
"You could help here, you know," snarled Akutsu.   
  
"Okay." Yukimura tried to whip his foot out of one leg and ended up kicking Akutsu in the face. Akutsu fell backwards with the impact, but fortunately still holding the jeans, which consented to part ways with Yukimura at last.   
  
"I'll never get them on again," Yukimura mourned, but his bewailing was cut short as Akutsu advanced. Batting him down like a cat playing with a mouse, Akutsu ran his hand down Yukimura's chest. He stared into Yukimura's eyes. Each breath he took seemed to make his lungs smaller.   
  
"Ready, steady, go," whispered Akutsu mockingly. He captured Yukimura's mouth in a bruising kiss while his index finger stroked up Yukimura's inner thigh.   
  
"I'm naked," observed Yukimura. His heart was thundering in his ears, but his vision was still hazy. It was like he was looking at someone else's body, sprawled inelegantly across a tumbled bed.   
  
"Turn over, princess," ordered Akutsu, and shoved a pillow under his belly.   
  
Yukimura lay with his face pressed into the grubby sheets while Akutsu hopped off the bed and rummaged in a bedside locker. His cock was paining him trapped under his body like that, so he pushed slightly against the pillow. The rough cotton felt like heaven.   
  
"Getting started without me?" Akutsu pressed one cold hand to his thigh. "Shift up a bit. I'm gonna get you ready now, so basically I'll be sticking my fingers up your asshole, all right?"   
  
"Did you have to put it like that? It sounds disgusting."   
  
"It is disgusting." Akutsu sounded preoccupied. Over his shoulder Yukimura could see him pouring white cream over his fingers.   
  
"Why do you do it then?"   
  
"Because," grunted Akutsu, his thumb sliding down between Yukimura's buttocks and circling a place that made him gasp in shock, "it feels so fucking amazing afterwards." He pushed his thumb deep inside, and Yukimura had to bite his lip so as not to cry out.   
  
"It stings," he complained.   
  
"Oh." Akutsu examined the bottle, his thumb still gently massaging. "It's Aloe Vera hand cream, that's why. All the lube is gone."   
  
"Bloody hell." The stinging intensified as Akutsu added a finger, stretching the muscles sideways in careful scissoring motions. "It hurts, it hurts."   
  
"Calm down, it'd be way worse if I didn't have hand cream." Akutsu pushed outwards harder. Yukimura yelped. "Okay, slightly worse. Look, it's your first time. Pretend you really are a girl, because it's gonna hurt."   
  
"Great." Yukimura buried his face in the mattress as Akutsu slid a third finger between the first two, driving into Yukimura like a wedge. Then they were gone, and something round and hot and _big_ was pressing in their place.   
  
"See what has to get inside? Now d'you understand the preparation?"   
  
Yukimura couldn't answer, because he'd seized up in fear. But a second later, cold air was seeping into his newly exposed areas.   
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, when he was sure Akutsu wasn't going for the surprise attack.   
  
"Gotta find a condom, don't I." Akutsu was turning his jacket upside down. His cock stuck out from his unzipped jeans like a battering ram. Yukimura got the giggles again. It didn't help when the condom Akutsu smoothed on turned out to be bright red, so his cock looked like a sunburnt courgette.   
  
"It's strawberry flavoured." Akutsu had the grace to look sheepish.   
  
"Mmm, my _favourite_ ," said Yukimura, and threw back his head and laughed and laughed.   
  
When he'd blinked all the tears away, Akutsu had arranged himself on his back. He gestured Yukimura to climb aboard. "It's all yours, princess. Take him for a ride."   
  
"You want me to --" Yukimura nodded uncertainly at the strawberry courgette.   
  
"Fuck me, yes. That way it won't hurt so much."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"No. But you'll be in control -- no hands, I promise." To make good, Akutsu tucked them behind his head. "You'd better slap on some more Aloe Vera, though."   
  
"Fantastic." Yukimura wrinkled his nose. But even with his poor skills at physics, he could see that getting something that size up a hole that small would require substantial lubrication. He poured some cream into his hands and squeezed them together. Inches from Akutsu's cock, he hesitated.   
  
"Princess, you're killin' me here," groaned Akutsu.   
  
Yukimura shrugged mentally. It was like he'd told Sanada before. Plenty of warm-up before the real thing. It was best to know now if he liked boys better than girls, before ... just before.   
  
He slicked Akutsu with the cream, which was less freaky than he'd expected and a lot like doing it to himself, except for the horrible combined odour of strawberries and aloe. He knelt astride Akutsu, who took a hand out of hiding to stroke his hip encouragingly.   
  
"That's it," he said, "just like that."   
  
The stab of pain as the crown breached his ass made Yukimura's eyes roll back in his head. It was tearing him apart and he would have stopped right there, if he wasn't afraid that going back would be even worse. Digging his hand into the bedstead for support and breathing through his nose, Yukimura tried to relax and push down a little more.   
  
"Oh fuck, oh yes," Akutsu was moaning, squeezing Yukimura's hip hard except every few seconds when he remembered the no-hands rule. "Fuck, princess, you're so tight. In-fucking- _credible_. Ninety-nine."   
  
"What?" Yukimura, who'd been concentrating on not dying, stared at Akutsu's screwed-up face and halted his descent. "Ninety-nine what?" As his body relaxed he took a little more in.   
  
"Ninety-eight," gasped Akutsu, "I'm counting -- fuck -- back from a hundred --"   
  
Yukimura experimentally rolled his hips forwards; it helped him slide down more smoothly, until he was fully seated on Akutsu's cock. "Yeah? A hundred what?" He started to rock back and forth. This wasn't too bad, actually, so long as he didn't have to think about getting back up again.   
  
"Sixty-four!" hissed Akutsu. "Forty-fifteen!"   
  
"That isn't even a number," panted Yukimura. He found himself wanting to rock harder. Akutsu's cock slipped out of him a little, and back in again. This time the friction was intense and far less painful. His own cock, which had gone all sad and limp, started to prick up.   
  
"I don't want to come too soon," moaned Akutsu -- a lost cause as far as Yukimura could see.   
  
He lightly touched just the tip of his cock, the way he liked it. A second later Akutsu had wrapped his fingers around the base and was pumping brutally hard. Yukimura hadn't thought anything could feel so good.   
  
"You ... just fuck me, princess. I'll take care of this."   
  
"Okay," managed Yukimura. He braced his other hand on Akutsu's thigh, corded with muscle and twitching with the effort of not disgracing himself. Slowly, so slowly, Yukimura moved up and down on Akutsu's cock. This time it was ecstasy that made his eyes roll backwards. The pain had subsided to a low throb that was drowned by the feeling of being stroked inside with hot, rough velvet.   
  
Then, as he tilted back further to pump even harder, his back arched like a bow, Akutsu's cock hit _something_. Yukimura cried out; it felt like his insides had turned to liquid.   
  
At the same time Akutsu twisted his cock, hard, and Yukimura came with an anticlimactic sigh. Inside him, Akutsu's cock swelled as he came too.   
  
"Can't move," whimpered Yukimura, as Akutsu tried to push him off.   
  
"Easier to do it quick," said Akutsu, strongarming him away. Yukimura's eyes bugged at the rubber burn.   
  
He curled into the wonderfully cool bedsheets, ignoring the suspicious stains. One of them looked like dried blood. Beside him, Akutsu's breath slowed and deepened.   
  
Wondering if the other boy was falling asleep, Yukimura mumbled, "My ass hurts."   
  
"You get that." There was a metallic click as Akutsu lit a cigarette. "But it's your turn next, so don't whine."   
  
"My turn?" Yukimura sat up, realising too late what a bad idea that was. "We're doing this again?"   
  
Akutsu exhaled into his face, then offered him a puff. "Why d'you think I got a room for the night, princess?"   
  
"Oh." Yukimura considered this. He took the cigarette without thinking and remembered not to breathe in too deeply this time. "Cool."   
  
+_+_+   
  
"Shit, that Aloe Vera really does sting."   
  
"Told you so."   
  
+_+_+   
  
Akutsu had explained the tradition of the post-coital cigarette. Currently, Yukimura was having his fourth.   
  
"I honestly don't think I can move, ever again," he said. He tried to raise his arm, but it flopped back down. "Look."   
  
"Set your alarm for nine. That's when they chuck us out." Akutsu snuggled down into 'his' pillow. It was larger and plumper than Yukimura's, but since Akutsu's spunk was now drying all over it Yukimura had totally lost interest in swapping.   
  
"I didn't bring a phone."   
  
"That's clever. What if you got abducted?"   
  
"I did get abducted. And a phone would have seriously cramped my style."   
  
"Parents?"   
  
"Parents, girlfriend, fukubuchou," sighed Yukimura. "Probably the National Guard at this stage."   
  
Morning light seeped through the grimy windows, picking up the coral tint in Akutsu's lips and his wicked amber eyes. "You don't have to tell me, but why did you do this? Especially, and I say this with no hint of censure, when you have a girlfriend who'd fit the bill nicely."   
  
"I only went out with her because she liked the boy I like, and he liked her."   
  
"Straight boys, huh? Fuckers."   
  
"Totally."   
  
There was a pause. "Mine's in love with my mother."   
  
"Seriously?" For the first time in three cigarettes, Yukimura choked. "I mean ... _seriously_?"   
  
"I know, right? How can I compete?" Akutsu slumped, if possible, even deeper into the pillow. "Sometimes I wish I'd been born a girl."   
  
Yukimura imagined being a girl. It wasn't hard; most people on meeting him had to take a mental U-turn to see him as a _boy_. Still, the idea of making Sanada lemonade revolted him.   
  
"Lazy ass," he echoed his fukubuchou. "I don't." He slid his hand under the covers to where Akutsu wouldn't have been if he was born a girl.   
  
"You're insatiable, why did I think I could handle you?"   
  
"Oh, you can handle me all right," smirked Yukimura, and stole another cigarette in readiness for round five.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Akutsu and Yukimura stumbled out into the cruel daylight, both wincing from pain and hangovers. At least, that was what Yukimura was wincing from. It could have just been Akutsu's natural expression.   
  
Yukimura had thought seeing each other for the first time in natural light would shatter their fragile camaraderie, but in fact it was the hangover trying to smash his skull into smithereens that garnered most of his attention.   
  
"I'll buy us some breakfast," he suggested weakly. When Akutsu went to protest, equally weakly, Yukimura said, "The girl's always supposed to cook breakfast afterwards, right?"   
  
Akutsu had been the girl twice, but he seemed happy enough to be treated to hiyashi-udon in a poky café.   
  
They lingered over cups of tea, barely talking, until the waitress started coughing in their faces. It was nearly lunchtime so Yukimura bought ramen at a stand outside.   
  
"C'mon, I know a great place we can eat this," said Akutsu. With Yukimura following, he ducked down a maze of alleyways and into a grotty little park. Yukimura crunched over used syringes and tinfoil towards the bench Akutsu was proudly indicating. It was three inches deep in graffiti.   
  
"This place looks like a perverts' paradise." Yukimura gingerly sat down, wondering if HIV could be transmitted through garden furniture.   
  
"It is. Pull your shirt down, your zip is showing again."   
  
"Damn." Yukimura had been forced to leave his jeans unzipped and unbuttoned, because it had taken both their best efforts just to get them back up his legs. Hercules would have been hard-pressed to do up the zip all the way. "Don't they bother you, these perverts?" He privately thought no one with any sense would bother Akutsu unless they had a death wish. Sober, Yukimura would have crossed the road to avoid him. Sake was powerful stuff.   
  
"Sure they do. Handjobs are three thousand yen a pop."   
  
"Seriously?" Yukimura looked at Akutsu, who was stretching out long legs encased in black jeans and biker boots.   
  
"Yeah, of course. I'd give anyone a handjob for three thousand yen."   
  
"I must owe you millions."   
  
"Don't be stupid."   
  
They ate companionably. There didn't seem to be much left to say. Akutsu didn't reveal anything more about his mother, and Yukimura didn't tell him Sanada's name. Still, it felt as if they'd known each other for years and had accumulated so much shorthand they didn't need to ask. Was this the after-effects of sex, Yukimura wondered briefly, then remembered Kiyomi. Probably not.   
  
At first when Yukimura heard the faint cry of 'Akutsu-senpai!' he thought he was imagining things. "Did you hear --" he began to ask, but Akutsu was already groaning.   
  
"That damn kid!"   
  
A tiny figure was galloping towards them from the trees. In the opposite direction, a slightly larger figure was gaining on him. Akutsu stood up and yelled.   
  
"What did I tell you about coming to this park, Dan? Jeez, you're such a moron."   
  
"Akutsu-senpai wasn't in school desu!" the little kid was gasping out. "He promised not to skip any more school desu!" She had long straight hair falling over a green headband and looked vaguely familiar. Yukimura tried to remember if Yamabuki had a cheerleading squad.   
  
"Is that kid after you?" Akutsu shaded his eyes.   
  
"What kid?" Dan looked over. "That's Kirihara-senpai desu! He's looking for Yukimura-senpai desu."   
  
"Kirihara?" Yukimura got to his feet, felt his brain trying to squeeze out his nostrils, and decided to sit down again. "How did he find me here?"   
  
"I think he followed me desu," said Dan. "Are you Yukimura-senpai desu?"   
  
"Unfortunately." Yukimura winced as Kirihara's voice rattled his eardrums.   
  
"Buchou! Thank God you're here!" Kirihara fell to his knees and started hugging Yukimura's legs.   
  
"Since when have you been a Christian?" asked Yukimura in confusion. Kirihara was squeezing right on his carpet burns.   
  
"What?" Dismissing the question, Kirihara raced on. "Everyone's so worried, buchou! Your parents have flown back from Hong Kong specially to look for you."   
  
"So that's where they were," said Yukimura vaguely. "Listen to me, Akaya, I'm fine." His head thumped. "Or I will be, rather."   
  
"After a little hair of the dog, maybe," murmured Akutsu in the background.   
  
"I want you to go home," ordered Yukimura in his best buchou voice, "and tell everyone to stop looking for me and stop worrying."   
  
"But buchou," wailed Kirihara, "Nationals are in two weeks and Yanagi's walked out and Niou's going to Engerland and --"   
  
"Hey, kid." Akutsu laid a shovel-sized hand on Kirihara's shoulder. "Can't you see your buchou needs some space? Now beat it."   
  
"But --"   
  
"Akaya, _please_ ," Yukimura grated out. He was holding his head in his hands, afraid it would split open if he let go.   
  
"Okay," said Kirihara reluctantly. "Please come home soon, buchou."   
  
"I will. I promise."   
  
Casting suspicious glances over his shoulder, Kirihara left. Akutsu sighed. "Dan, go and check that he finds the right bus stop and doesn't get jumped on by a flasher, okay?"   
  
"Yes, Akutsu-senpai desu!"   
  
"I'd be more worried about her getting jumped on if I were you," mumbled Yukimura.   
  
"Who, Taichi? Aha, _she's_ had plenty of experience evading perverts. Trust me."   
  
"Not likely." Yukimura squinted up at Akutsu. He had his back to the sun, giving him a golden halo. "You're off, then?"   
  
"Yeah. You should call me if you ever get lonely, princess."   
  
"I have no phone, remember?" Yukimura reminded him.   
  
"I'll have my people call your people. The bus stop's over there."   
  
"Thanks." Yukimura hesitated. "For everything, Akutsu."   
  
Akutsu let his hand rest on Yukimura's cheek, just for a moment. "Any time, Yukimura."   
  
Yukimura smiled and closed his eyes. He was so weary, he'd just rest here for a minute...   
  
In a little while, it began to rain.   
  
+_+_+   
  
There was no one home when Yukimura let himself in, drenched to the bone and shivering like a stray cat. _So much for everyone being worried sick_ , he thought. He was too tired and cold even to change into his pyjamas. He just fell into bed and was asleep in seconds.   
  
The dreams were highly lucid.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy and sticky, they felt like they'd been coated in Vaseline. Why would he have done that? Noriko said Vaseline made your eyelashes grow, but Yukimura's were long and curly enough already, thanks.   
  
"I'm so glad you're here, Sanada-kun." His mother's voice sounded hoarse, the way it did after a long night out socialising with his father's partners or her bridge club cronies. "He's been calling out for you."   
  
"I wasn't sure it was appropriate --" That sounded like Sanada, but his voice drifted away as the dark river dragged Yukimura under again.   
  
When he resurfaced next, Sanada was sitting on a chair beside his bed and entreating him earnestly, "You must get better soon. When everyone saw you like this it was like your illness all over again. Yukimura ... Seiichi, _please_."   
  
Yukimura smiled sleepily. "Hi, Genichirou."   
  
Sanada started and went stark white. "You're awake!"   
  
"Well, yes." Yukimura tried moving his hand. Although his head felt weird and muddy, his muscles moved as requested and took Sanada's hand.   
  
Sanada went, if possible, even whiter. This confused Yukimura slightly; in every other dream Sanada had been fondly embracing him by now. He'd also tended to be wearing far fewer clothes. This Sanada was dressed in the kingfisher blue Rikkai High jersey. His cap lay on the seat beside him, as if he'd just come from practice. Yukimura supposed the vision was slightly more realistic this way, but he was getting impatient.   
  
"Aren't you going to come closer?" he said, and was overcome by the desire to cough. That was truly bizarre. Who coughed in a fantasy? But he refused to let it deter him. "Genichirou?"   
  
Sanada swallowed visibly on hearing his name. That was more like it. Yukimura tugged on the hand he'd captured and almost reluctantly Sanada moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Yukimura curled his hand into Sanada's large palm, weaving his fingers between Sanada's. But he _still_ didn't get the hint.   
  
"I haven't got all day," snapped Yukimura. "Just kiss me already."   
  
Sanada's eyes went wide, so wide at that, Yukimura was afraid they'd fall out. Sanada's cheeks flushed darkly and he swallowed again. But -- at last! -- he bent his head down to brush his lips against Yukimura's cheek.   
  
Yukimura was just about to rebuke Sanada for missing his mouth when he realised something ghastly, something he should have realised before.   
  
This wasn't a dream.   
  
"Oh no," he whispered. "Sanada, I'm so sorry. I thought I was imagining this."   
  
"So did I," said Sanada softly. He withdrew his hand gently and stood up. "It's good that you're awake and rational, though."   
  
"I'm in my bedroom," Yukimura noted. "I must be sick. What day is it?"   
  
"Monday," replied Sanada. "You've had the 'flu since you got home on Saturday."   
  
"And how long have you been here?" asked Yukimura. It was still light outside, so it couldn't have been long. But Sanada had so much to do, in the dojo and with his studies. Yukimura hated to think he'd been wasting Sanada's time.   
  
"Oh, not long." Sanada always twirled his cap when he was being evasive, but Yukimura was prevented from probing further by the entry of his mother with a tea-tray.   
  
"My honey, you're awake!" she exclaimed. "Sanada, has he been making sense?"   
  
"Yes, Yukimura-san."   
  
"Oh, this kid!" Yukimura's mother put down the tea tray and swatted Sanada playfully. "You hear how formal he is? When he hasn't left your bedside for three days except to go to school, and then only because I made him! Where did you find such a treasure?" She pinched Yukimura's cheek. "You look so much better, my love."   
  
"I feel better." Yukimura beamed at Sanada, but he was already bowing.   
  
"I must go, Yukimura-san. The others will want to know how their buchou is doing."   
  
"Of course, of course! Come back soon, won't you?"   
  
"Thank you for your hospitality, Yukimura-san." And Sanada was gone without accepting the invitation. Yukimura deflated.   
  
"Such a wonderful boy!" Yukimura-san was starry-eyed. "He'd make a lovely boyfriend for Noriko, don't you think?"   
  
He'd make a lovelier boyfriend for me, thought Yukimura mutinously. He touched his cheek where Sanada had kissed him, and wished it had been of his own volition.   
  
"Speaking of boyfriends, little Kiyomi-chan has been on the phone every day asking after you. She didn't want to call round in case you were contagious. Isn't that thoughtful?"   
  
"Thoughtful is not the word," said Yukimura. "So when can I start playing again?"   
  
"Oh, you need to rest for a few more days. But you're young and healthy ..." Yukimura-san suddenly hugged him tight. "I'm so glad you didn't have a relapse. So glad, in fact, I'm going to wait until you're better to ask you where you were on Friday and Saturday!"   
  
"Thanks." Hidden in her neck, Yukimura winced. At least that gave him some time to come up with a decent cover story.   
  
"Is he awake?" Noriko put her head around the door. "Fantastic! Can I see him?"   
  
"Of course, darling. Do you want something to eat, Seiichi?"   
  
Yukimura realised he was starving. "Yes, please."   
  
"I'm delighted you're getting better," said Noriko, sitting down heavily on his foot. Yukimura was highly surprised at her sisterly concern, which she'd never deigned to show before.   
  
"You are?"   
  
"Yes." Noriko held out a crumpled pair of white jeans and a handful of strawberry flavoured condoms. "Now maybe you can explain what the _hell_ you were doing with my favourite trousers."   
  
+_+_+   
  
"Niou, slow down or I'll throw up on you," threatened Yukimura. He'd insisted on coming back to school on Thursday simply to take practise again, disheartening an experience as it was going to be. Now, as Niou tugged him eagerly down the halls like a frisky young colt, Yukimura was regretting his hasty decision. For one thing, he could feel his lunch repeating on him.   
  
"Okay, okay." Niou pranced in one spot to wait for Yukimura to catch up. "Are you gonna be okay by next weekend, or what?"   
  
"Not that it's any of your business, but yes." Yukimura wished he was as confident as he sounded. If he'd had solid doubles and singles teams to rely on, then it wouldn't have been an issue if he were dying of plague. They could have won outright and saved him playing. This year it seemed far more likely that he would be responsible for winning the tournament alone, which didn't help with the nausea.   
  
Niou slung an arm around his waist. "I'm happy you didn't die, buchou. So is everyone else."   
  
"Except Kiyomi, I imagine." Yukimura felt another stab of guilt. When Kiyomi had phoned on Monday to see how he was, Yukimura had wanted to know why she wasn't afraid of germs coming down the phone line and without waiting for a reply, had broken up with her.   
  
"About that." Niou coughed. "You know the way you guys stopped going out?"   
  
"Yes, I happened to be there at the time."   
  
"And you know Marui? And you know the way he likes sweets a lot, it's why he has such a fat ass?"   
  
"I know lots of things, it would seem." Yukimura could see where this was going. "Did he ask her out yet?"   
  
"I think he's waiting until you tell him he can," Niou said delicately. Yukimura snorted.   
  
"I'm not going to tell him that. For one thing, I couldn't care less. For another, if he can't figure that one out for himself he'll be stuck on first base for a long, long time."   
  
"I don't think he's even stepped up to the plate, myself," sniggered Niou. "Like Sanada."   
  
"Sanada's made it to first base," corrected Yukimura unthinkingly.   
  
"Oh no, buchou. You don't mean to tell me ..."   
  
"What?" Yukimura made an innocent face. "He's a good kisser."   
  
"Oh, gross," said Niou faintly. Yukimura waited a few seconds, then --   
  
"Gotcha!" he crowed. "The prankster has finally been out-pranked."   
  
"Puri," spat Niou. "For a second there, I almost believed you."   
  
By this point they'd arrived at the clubhouse. "Shut your eyes, buchou," ordered Niou.   
  
Yukimura had expected a banner of some sort, and a nice cake. His team were boringly predictable like that, plus they loved cake. What he didn't expect was to see a shiny brown head in amongst the crowds of straight, curly and spiky black, pink and blonde hair.   
  
" _Jackal_?"   
  
"Buchou." Jackal stepped forward and grinned. "Pleased to see me?"   
  
"Are you joking?" Yukimura bowed more deeply than he ever had before. "Lifesaver! What are you doing here?"   
  
"The bass guitarist my band got is much better than me," said Jackal, "but none of them play tennis. I thought I'd cut my losses. What's another year or two here? I can always go back home for university."   
  
"Jackal actually got back last week," chipped in Marui. He was nobly refusing cake. ('Maybe after Nationals, Kiyomi-chan!') "We've been practising together since then. Our formation's a little rusty, but at least both of us have working ankles."   
  
Yukimura clapped eyes on Yanagi. "Is this a Seigaku man I see before me?"   
  
Yanagi shrugged, looking a tad shamefaced. "Sanada came to talk some sense in to me." Looking closer, Yukimura could see a fading bruise under one of his eyes and had to suppress a smile. "I forgot how much I owed this team. And Inui is as irritating as Kirihara. That's why I never told him when I transferred here all those years ago, but I forgot that too."   
  
"I owe you an apology," said Yukimura. "I should have listened to you. _I_ forgot that you really mean everything you say." They both looked over at Kirihara, who was hanging off Jackal.   
  
"Maybe it will be better now Jackal's back?"   
  
"Maybe I can give it another try?" suggested Yanagi simultaneously, and they both grinned.   
  
"This is brilliant," said Yukimura, "just brilliant. My doubles two and singles two restored, all in one day! And this means Sanada can play doubles with Yagyuu."   
  
"What's that?" chimed in Niou. "Who's nicking my spot with Yagyuu?"   
  
"No one's nicking your spot -- you're going to London, remember?"   
  
"Actually, I'm not." Niou put his head on one side. "Sanada checked the dates for me, and I can afford to fly in a day late and miss the orientation. As long as we don't have to replay any matches, I'll be there with you guys. Winning Nationals."   
  
Sanada again? thought Yukimura. How much more am I going to owe the guy before we're done?   
  
Out loud, he said, "That's the second-best news I've heard all week, Niou. Now everyone had better stop relaxing and get on the courts! Niou, get to work with Yagyuu on his Laser Beam. His accuracy is atrocious. Doubles two, tighten up your combination! Sanada and Yanagi, get on court one. You'll be singles two and three, I want no mistakes from you. Kirihara, you'll be the sub. Volleys with me on court two in five."   
  
"Yes, buchou," everyone chorused, and filed out. Marui paused by Kiyomi's cake table to ask her the recipe.   
  
"-- it's a family secret, but I'm sure I could bend the rules for you, Bunta-kun!"   
  
"You're very pretty -- I mean kind," stuttered Marui. "I really love cake, I can make one piece last for hours."   
  
"You don't say." Kiyomi looked him up and down appraisingly.   
  
"Yeah, Kirihara can be a handful," Jackal was admitting to Yanagi as they walked out together. "But I have lots of kid cousins in Brazil, so I'm used to dealing with the sugar highs."   
  
"You seem to be able to handle him wonderfully," replied Yanagi. Yukimura stifled a snigger as he followed them out. Lately he was hearing innuendo in everything. "I found him trying. I'm glad you're back to distract his attention away from me."   
  
"Yeah, it's great to _be_ back." Jackal swished his racquet joyfully. "I was never so surprised as when Sanada emailed me, you know the way he hates computers, but once he suggested coming back I realised it's exactly what I wanted to do ..."   
  
Yukimura froze, several things clicking into place. He stopped in front of the court gates, and Yagyuu and Niou squeezed past him.   
  
"Buchou's in a bit of a trance." Yagyuu's voice was low, but Yukimura had exceptional hearing.   
  
"Still kinda sick, I'd say." Niou's racquet rested on top of his shoulders. His rat's tail dangled halfway down his back now. "But you know buchou. If you cut him in half tennis balls'd fall out."   
  
Marui dashed by them, yelling for Jackal to wait up.   
  
"Fatty looks set to make it with the team manager," remarked Niou, beginning his stretches. "You disappointed?"   
  
"Nah. She had a crush on Sanada for the longest time. I'm not interested in sloppy seconds." Yagyuu cleaned some dirt out of his nails before Niou demanded to be spotted.   
  
Yukimura wondered if hearing Sanada's name linked with a girl's would ever stop hurting. The pain from his illness had taken months to subside, and that had just been a physical thing. With feet of lead he moved towards court two, where Kirihara was hopping in impatience.   
  
"Wonder why Sanada never took the initiative?" Niou's voice was getting fainter.   
  
"Don't be fatuous. You know he's only ever had eyes for Yukimura..."   
  
Yukimura put a hand to his head, feeling dizzy. Had he heard that right? Or was it just his imagination playing tricks on him?   
  
"Bu- _chou_!" Kirihara whined.   
  
"A moment, Akaya." Yukimura sat on a bench with his head between his knees, breathing deeply. A cool hand soothed his neck. "I _said_ I'll just be a minute."   
  
"I sent Akaya to do some laps," said a completely different voice. Yukimura's heart tried to leap out of his chest. "He seemed over-fresh."   
  
"When is Akaya ever not over-fresh?" muttered Yukimura. He sat up, but found he couldn't look at Sanada.   
  
"I think we're going to make it through Nationals just fine," Sanada was saying. "There's no need to worry."   
  
"I never need to worry when you're around," said Yukimura. "I owe you everything. All of this is your doing."   
  
"You owe me nothing." Sanada stood up. He was always walking away from Yukimura. "You're buchou. Akaya!"   
  
Yukimura stood up too, and deliberately let his shoulder graze Sanada's. "And if I wasn't buchou you wouldn't have, right?"   
  
"I didn't mean it like that." Sanada pulled his cap over his eyes.   
  
"You still on for tutoring tonight?" asked Yukimura. Sanada nodded. "I'll meet you after practice. And Genichirou?" Sanada looked up, startled.   
  
Yukimura took a deep breath. "You'll probably think this is totally dishonourable, but I want you to know anyway. I only went out with Kiyomi to make you jealous, because I like you. Genichirou, I really _like_ you. And I don't want to lie any more, or pretend that kissing you is some kind of pretend warm-up or practise when really," his voice dropped at the hunted look on Sanada's face, "it was the best thing ever."   
  
"Buchou, you ready now?"   
  
Yukimura cleared his throat and looked away from Sanada. "Ah, Akaya. Smooth or rough?"   
  
"Rough!"   
  
Yukimura stepped forward. This was the true test. He needed to be able to play as well as ever. He couldn't let his heart rule his head, or he was no tennis player. He was just a boy who'd end up being a chartered accountant some day.   
  
He slaughtered Kirihara 6-0, 6-0.   
  
+_+_+   
  
Yukimura held a picture of his team from the last year of middle school, the metal frame coldly branding his palm. Sanada's face was the size of a thumbprint, but Yukimura was still debating pressing his lips to the glass. It was totally uncool, but Yukimura missed kissing Sanada's real face more than words could say.   
  
When the doorbell rang and Yukimura answered it, the last person he was expecting to see was Sanada. Sanada was the first person Yukimura hoped to see, but he was well aware of the vast difference between reasonable expectation and hope.   
  
"I found your notes," blurted Sanada, and shoved them into Yukimura's hands. They were sporting foodstains and were hopelessly crumpled.   
  
"The ones I threw in the bin," remembered Yukimura. "You fished them out?"   
  
Sanada blushed. "You need them. For school. I forgot to give them to you at the tutoring session, I'm sorry."   
  
"Don't be -- _I_ forgot they even existed." Yukimura smiled warmly at Sanada. Sanada's mouth flattened into the beginning of a return smile, but within an instant it changed shape again.   
  
"I have to go," he muttered, racing down the garden path before Yukimura could do anything to stop him.   
  
Sighing, Yukimura went back inside. Once in his bedroom, he propped the team picture on his bedside locker and slid his hand into his shorts.   
  
+_+_+   
  
The first day of Nationals dawned bright and clear. The lack of clouds would turn out to be a curse rather than a blessing later on, but for now Yukimura relished the warm air flooding his lungs.   
  
He was warming up with Sanada -- who'd made no reference to Yukimura's confession since he'd made it -- when Niou whistled him over.   
  
"There's a guy up there wants to talk to you. Looks important."   
  
Mopping away the sweat with his headband, Yukimura mounted the steps. He recognised the talent scout who'd approached him and Tezuka at the Prefecturals.   
  
"Yukimura-kun, good to see you, good to see you! Shinoda-san, do you remember me?"   
  
"Of course, Shinoda-san." Politely, Yukimura let Shinoda pump his hand for slightly longer than necessary. His palm was as sweaty as Yukimura's for no good reason. "What did you want me for?"   
  
"An offer, kid, what else?" laughed Shinoda. "I see your form hasn't dropped. You're looking better than ever. Basically I'm here to offer you a place at a training academy in the US. You might've heard of it -- Echizen Ryoma-kun went there a few years ago and he's now on the international circuit. Placed third in the last US Open. I think you have just as much potential. If you play this tournament as well as you usually do, and I have no doubts on that score, you're a shoo-in."   
  
"That's -- that's incredible!" Yukimura almost dropped his racquet.   
  
"Of course, it means leaving school a year early," Shinoda warned him. "Some players like to wait and take their chances another year, or enter adult tournaments to get seeded that way. It's a big decision, Yukimura-kun."   
  
Yukimura hardly took a word in. "I understand, Shinoda-san." The man was handing him his dream on a plate -- who cared about a year of school? Well, except his parents, probably.   
  
"I'll let you get back to warming up. Your partner looks a bit fed up."   
  
"Oh, Sanada always looks like that." Bidding Shinoda farewell, Yukimura danced down the steps.   
  
He didn't have a chance to tell Sanada the good news until they were at a vending machine. Totally preoccupied, Yukimura bought orange Ponta, which he usually hated. Sanada looked at him askance.   
  
Yukimura turned shining eyes on him. "You'll never guess what I've been offered!" he exclaimed. "The chance to turn pro after this tournament! Can you believe it?"   
  
"Of course I can." Sanada stared at his can of Pocari Sweat. "You're good enough to go pro, you always were."   
  
"You don't sound very happy for me." Yukimura took a sip of his drink and nearly spat it out again. "Yuck, this drink is orange flavoured!"   
  
"That's what happens when you order orange flavour drinks," muttered Sanada. "I guess this means you won't be coming back to school next year."   
  
"Well, no," said Yukimura, the enormity of it hitting him for the first time. "But who cares about that? What's a year of school, compared to playing professional tennis?"   
  
"A lot can happen in a year," said Sanada. He was playing with the tab of his can now, looking miserable.   
  
"Are you telling me I should wait?" demanded Yukimura.   
  
"I'd never tell you to do something like that," Sanada flared up. "I ... I'm just ... hoping you will."   
  
" _Oh_." Yukimura smiled. "I see." He felt an incredible lightness of spirit.   
  
Across the plaza, he saw a flash of dirty blonde hair and waved. Akutsu gave a small wave in return. He was standing next to a tall chunky boy with closely cropped hair. They were both wearing the white and green Yamabuki summer uniform. Akutsu's friend was poking at a tinfoil plate of sushi as if it might imminently explode. Even at this distance, Yukimura could see the pain and happiness warring across Akutsu's face.   
  
"Do you know that blonde guy?" asked Sanada. "He looks dodgy. Didn't he try to kill Echizen Ryoma?"   
  
"Probably, who hasn't?" Yukimura looked at him, smiling, until Sanada was forced to smile back. The effort was clearly too much for him, for his gaze returned to the ground almost straight away. "I guess I just know where he's coming from."   
  
"Yeah, like a prison," grumbled Sanada. "We'd better get back, check to see if Renji's murdered Akaya yet."   
  
"Just wait one more minute." Yukimura moved closer to him. Sanada's breath hitched and he glared at the paving stones, but didn't move away. Yukimura brushed Sanada's pinky with his own. "See? The sky doesn't fall in if you do something a bit ... unexpected."   
  
Sanada made a sound in the back of his throat, but didn't disagree. Yukimura flicked his eyes up to the sky, just to check.   
  
Maybe Sanada would come round. Maybe he wouldn't. But right now, he wasn't walking away, and that was enough.   
  
"All right, we'd better go. Renji'd never be allowed play if he was being brought up on homicide charges..."   
  
Together and side by side, they walked back to the courts.   
  
~ **omake** ~   
  
Sanada's weight was like a warm blanket. Their tongues rubbed together as slowly as the hand Sanada was sliding down Yukimura's arm. He had one hard thigh wedged between Yukimura's legs, holding him still when Yukimura would have liked to arch upwards. Sanada liked to do things very slowly. He was such a fucking tease.   
  
"Genichirou," mumbled Yukimura. He felt hot and shivery all over. They'd stripped down to their boxers -- slowly, of course, Sanada lingering over every button. Yukimura would have thought he was just shy if they hadn't done this a hundred times before. But it wasn't enough, which was why Yukimura had one hand down the back of Sanada's boxers trying to inch them off. "Did you get the stuff?"   
  
"Mmm." Sanada was kissing Yukimura's neck now, his hair tickling Yukimura's chin. Those lovely blunt nails were pinching and stroking Yukimura's nipples. He loved to touch Yukimura but still wasn't happy about Yukimura touching him, which was why Yukimura intended on letting Sanada top. At least for now.   
  
"Did you?" Yukimura tried to take advantage of Sanada's distraction to get a hand down to his cock, but Sanada was having none of it. He slid his thigh higher and trapped Yukimura's hand against the pillow. In frustration, Yukimura started mindlessly humping Sanada's leg. "Fuckit Genichirou ... gonna come if you don't..."   
  
Sanada gave Yukimura's jaw one last swipe and rolled off. "All right. Don't touch yourself."   
  
Yukimura was too boneless and weak with desire to do more than moan as, blushing furiously, Sanada pulled off his boxers. He had a cock like a steel girder. Anticipation and terror -- but mainly anticipation -- at getting it inside him was making Yukimura's mouth water.   
  
Sanada bent over to rummage in his bag, and Yukimura couldn't resist stroking those lovely pale ass cheeks.   
  
"Seiichi ..." Warningly.   
  
"Genichirou ..." Teasingly. "Hurry up and fuck me, darling."   
  
"Don't call me that."   
  
"I will if you don't come on ... darling." Yukimura smirked and spread his legs. He loved flaunting himself for Sanada, who always blushed and dropped things. Like condoms and the lubricant. Yukimura was relieved to see that they were normal (extra-large ribbed) condoms with no stupid colours or flavours. He was less relieved at the sight of the lubricant, which looked like a shampoo bottle. Still, it couldn't be worse than hand cream.   
  
"I'll be careful," Sanada promised, climbing back on to the bed to give Yukimura another kiss. They got a bit distracted by that, and it was a while later when Sanada got his tongue back. Yukimura's nipples felt bruised and sore -- Sanada didn't know his own strength and Yukimura wasn't about to tell him -- but it was nothing to the throbbing ache in his cock.   
  
"Do I put the stuff on my fingers or on you first?" asked Sanada. His earnest expression killed Yukimura. He squirmed, fighting the urge to pull Sanada down into a long, wet kiss until they stroked and rubbed each other to completion, like every other time.   
  
"Doesn't matter, either," he gasped. Sanada frowned and carefully smeared the cream around each finger. Yukimura had to close his eyes in case he came just by looking.   
  
With his eyes closed, he could hear and smell everything far more acutely. The squelchy sounds were disgusting and erotic at the same time, but Yukimura couldn't say the same about the smell.   
  
"Genichirou, is that ... Aloe Vera?"   
  
"Yeah. It's L'oreal." Sanada paused with a hand on each buttcheek. "I thought I'd get something special, you know ... for our first time."   
  
Yukimura didn't have to open his eyes to feel the heat of Sanada's blush. He'd do almost anything for that blush. For Sanada, too. "Okay, just be quick, or our first time will be extremely ... ohh ... _short_."   
  
It was anyway, and the shampoo stung like hell. But Genichirou was totally worth it.   



End file.
